Whim

National Doughnut Day

2008-06-11T23:49:00.001-07:00

June found M. and I back in the LBC to visit the Wilsons and meet Baby Audrey. One morning, Brian and I were up early with the kids, and we saw on the news that it was National Doughnut Day. I didn't even KNOW that there WAS a National Doughnut Day! Of course, I didn't need any better justification to go get some doughnuts, so we packed the kids in the car in their pajamas and took off to Krispy Kreme to get our free doughnuts!

Yay! Krispy Kreme!

Decisions, decisions...

A balanced and nutritious breakfast!

We LOVE Doughnut Day!

My Favorite Band in the WORLD!

2008-06-01T23:17:00.001-07:00

My birthday trip to Berkeley with Micaela to see R.E.M. Back in May. Yes, I'm catching up.

Navigating Berkeley can be difficult unless you spot a car to follow...

Opening act...EURIPIDES!

SO excited!

My expansive seat space.

You can never have too many Michael Stipes.

Matilda's First Camping Trip

2008-06-01T22:18:00.000-07:00

On Memorial Day we went on a short trip to Auburn to camp with my friend Hannah after her rafting trip. I wasn't sure if Matilda would be too into camping, but she loved it! Daddy was a little less enthused about the amount of dirt M. wanted to spread all over herself.

"This is MY log! Get your own!"

Relaxing with Auntie Hannah

Enjoying the view...of dirt.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of SUCK!

2008-05-29T14:51:00.001-07:00

So this entry has been sitting on my blog, unposted, since, well, my birthday. The reason for my extreme procrastination is that I originally intended to write a review of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull to go along with it, but every time I even thought about the movie, all I could do was weep silent tears of intense disappointment. You think I am exaggerating here, but I actually sat in my house, after everyone had left my birthday party, CRYING because I hated the movie SO MUCH!

Perhaps I better explain my birthday party for those of you who weren't there. At midnight, on MY BIRTHDAY, the new Indiana Jones film opened. When I found out about this, I felt that it must be Steven Spielberg's and George Lucas's way of personally rewarding me for a lifetime of devotion. It was immediately obvious to me what had to be done...I had to have an Indiana Jones birthday party. The party, of course, would end with all of us attending the midnight showing of the film in our awesome costumes. My friends, being the great sports that they are, all went along with it. Thus, the greatest party ever conceived took place, with one minor drawback--THE MOVIE!

Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was, for me, an even greater crime than the Star Wars prequels. At least those films did little to mar the memory of the original trilogy, being set in a different time with mostly different characters. I just wrote them off as being more aimed towards a new generation of kids...let the kids have the new films, I will stick to the old. But this film, this so-called Indiana Jones film, has forever undermined my love of the character, the filmmakers, and all of the actors. I don't think I will ever be able to watch the original trilogy again with the same loving eye. For that, I want Spielberg and Lucas to PAY!

The reason that I am finally able to speak of this tragedy is that with the looming release of the DVD, I feel the need to warn anybody who didn't have the misfortune of already seeing this film...DON'T DO IT! Let that dog lie! Just pretend that the fourth movie doesn't exist! That's certainly what I am trying to do! And this morning, one of my favorite bloggers, Puntabulous, posted a link to a brilliant review of the film that articulates nearly everything I hated about the movie. It is long, but very funny and right on target. For all of you who have asked me over the past several months, "What didn't you like about the movie?"...read it and know.

Still, my party was great, and, as you can tell by now, the costumes were incredible. Hopefully I can allow the memory of the party to live on while the memory of the movie fades away until all I remember is a TRILOGY called Indiana Jones, AND NOTHING ELSE!

And now a quiz for all you Indie fans out there:

Match the costume with the picture!

a)Marion Ravenwood
b) Colonel Vogel
c) Classic Indie (x2)
d) Adolf Hitler
e) Elsa Schneider
f) Willie Scott (Shanghai)
g) Jock the Seaplane Pilot
h) Kazim of the Brotherhood of the Cruciform Sword
i) Nightclub Indie (Shanghai)
j) Indie's "Love You" Student (x2)
k) Short Round
l) Professor Indie
m) Willie Scott (India) (x2)

I Scream, You Scream...

2008-05-09T23:36:00.001-07:00

Today M. had her first ice cream cone.

What you don't see here is how M. used her napkin to very carefully wipe up all her ice cream dribbles and clean her mouth between each and every bite.

That's my kid!

...in which Tracy Becomes Certain that Dorkiness is Genetic...

2008-05-08T21:37:00.000-07:00

"Oh boy, it's game night! Daddy, do I need a d10 or a d20 to make this check?"

"You need to shake a die a LOT if you want a good roll!"

"Oh my God! A natural 20!"

"I just can't believe how good I am at D&D!"

Joie de Vivre

2008-05-01T15:57:00.001-07:00

...in which Tracy Begins Wondering if OCD is Genetic...

2008-04-30T09:52:00.001-07:00

Earth Day Blossoms

2008-04-22T20:04:00.000-07:00

In honor of Earth Day this year, I present the photos I took while walking to our local Earth Day celebration. It's days like this that remind me to get out of the car more often, even if it is just to see the flowers in my neighbors' yards.

Have a very green day!

A Numbers Game

2008-04-01T18:37:00.000-07:00

M. may not love English words, but she loves counting. Thus it was that when Grandpa Gary visited us this week, he got to read 8 Little Monkeys 18 times. Because those dumb-ass monkeys never learn to stop bouncing on the freakin' bed!

Eastertime in the LBC

2008-03-31T18:29:00.001-07:00

Easter in Long Beach. There were eggs...

And adorable babies to hunt the eggs...

And Easter brunch at Parker's Lighthouse...

And merry-go-round rides in Shoreline Village.

Thank you Easter Bunny!

Matilda, Version 1.5

2008-03-13T14:12:00.001-07:00

Today M. turned one and a half. I'm not one of those parents who throws a party or gives presents for my child's half-birthday--I hope a friend would beat me senseless if I was--but in many ways this day seemed like more of a milestone than her one-year birthday. She is more a toddler now than a baby, more of a little person than a little beastie I have to care for. We celebrated by throwing away all of her pacifiers and getting shots at the doctor--woo-hoo! She has not yet decided to speak English, although she is very fluent and expressive in Matilda-ese. She read aloud to the pediatrician from Dr. Seuss while he examined her. I couldn't resist the great light in the doctor's office, so I took the opportunity to shoot some half-birthday portraits.

Happy half-birthday, Matilda!

Bestiality and the Toy Industry

2008-03-12T10:48:00.001-07:00

A while back, my friend Tammy sent me a photo she saw in the paper of a new toy from the New York Toy Fair. She thought it would make me laugh...

And I did laugh...after I got up off the floor from the apoplectic fit that the sight of this monstrosity threw me into.

I laughed because all I could think was, "It's a Whorse."

I guess they've gone through every permutation of Bratz and now they have to start sexualizing animals since all the little girl dolls are good and slutted up.

Lord help us.

A Very Belated Birth Story

2008-03-11T18:06:00.000-07:00

Here is a prize for all of you loyal readers. I have, only 18 months late, completed Matilda's birth story. You can read it here. I started the post on her first birthday and only completed it today. So, if you are so inclined, you can read it. I know a lot of you have heard this story before, but it's a good one and worth reading. I will warn you, though, that it is very, very long and not for the queasy.

The Long, Dark Winter of My Blog is Over

2008-03-11T09:43:00.000-07:00

So here's the thing. I HATE this time of year. From New Year's Day to Easter just, well, sucks. The weather is horrible. TV is horrible. No decent movies are playing. Valentine's Day happens. There is NOTHING to do but sit in the house and pray for Spring. During these horrible few months, my creativity is sapped. I don't want to scrapbook, I don't want to write, and I certainly don't want to blog. But my fans, all seven of you, demand that I come back to the keyboard. OK fine. After Daylight Savings Time, my spirits are a lifting a bit, and I feel my need to create slowly coming back. Plus, we've had a long spurt of Global-Warming-Is-Really-Happening weather. So I'm gonna get warmed up by posting some pictures of the world's cutest baby, and then I'll go think about what I'm going to post tomorrow.

I LOVE the swings! Love 'em, love 'em, LOVE 'EM!

I LOVE my brother! Love 'im, love 'im, love 'im!

I LOVE my sunglasses! Love 'em, love 'em, love 'em!

This post is dedicated to those people who ride my ass about not updating my blog: Lorna, Mom, Micaela, Doug, Meredith, Kat, and Tammy.

Our Tiny Little Foodie

2008-01-11T21:30:00.000-08:00

When in a Vietnamese restaurant, do as the Vietnamese...

What are these sticks doing in my mouth?

Okay, Daddy, I got this!

Note: The goldfish are just an appetizer...she proceeded to chow down on some potstickers.

Meme Time

2008-01-10T22:41:00.000-08:00

Dan tagged me with this meme a few days ago, and since I forgot to include him in my anglophilia list, the least I can do is reply.

Seven sets of eight things

8 things I am passionate about
Protecting the environment
Games
Rhetoric and critical thinking
Writing
Most things British
Food
Protecting our civil liberties by exercising our civic duties
My family

8 things I want to do before I die
Get a real job
Travel around the globe
Go to stunt driving school
Catch up on my scrapbooks
Eat at French Laundry
Pay off my student loans
Get fit
Rule the world

8 things I say often
“Please” and “Thank you”
“Stop that!”
“No!”
“Wha-wha-WHAT?!”
“For the love of all that is holy…”
“Whose turn is it?”
“PHONE!”
“I said ‘excuse me!’”

8 books I have read recently
World Without End – Ken Follett
Happier – Tal Ben-Shahar
The Kite Runner – Khaled Hosseini
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – J.K. Rowling
Reviving Ophelia – Mary Pipher
Getting Stoned with Savages – J. Maarten Troost
Mayflower – Nathaniel Philbrick
The Assault on Reason – Al Gore

8 songs I could listen to over and over again
“One” – U2
“Muhammad My Friend” – Tori Amos
“Lord Raise Me Up” – Matisyahu
“Shining Star” – Earth Wind & Fire
“Miracles” – Jefferson Starship
“Sabatoge” – The Beastie Boys
“Three Little Birds” – Bob Marley
“Gold Dust Woman” – Fleetwood Mac

8 things that attract me to my best friends
Sense of humor
Kindness
Intelligence
Spontaneity
Loyalty
Generosity of spirit
Talkative
Willingness to be silly

8 people who should totally do this meme
The eight (OKAY, nine) people in my sidebar.

5 Things That Sated My Anglophilia This Week

2008-01-08T11:35:00.000-08:00

1) The Tudors: If Showtime and HBO aired only original shows, I would happily cough up the money for premium cable. I am, however, unwilling to pay good money to sit through the crappy selections of movies just to watch the 3 or 4 shows I want to see that will come out on DVD eventually anyways. One of those shows is The Tudors, which has been ripening on my Netflix list for months. I just got the first disc this week and am promptly hooked, despite the fact that Jonathan Rhys Meyers looks nothing like King Henry VIII.

2) New episodes of Charlie and Lola: I play these while Matilda's in the room, even though she pretty much ignores each episode after the opening song plays. Still, I play them for HER.

3) Jane Eyre: Absolutely the greatest adaptation I have ever seen! Thank you, Masterpiece Theatre, for this intensely satisfying 3.5 hours of period drama. My toes curled.

4) The Bayeux Tapestry couch gag on The Simpsons: I cannot find a clip or even a picture of this week's brilliant couch gag, wherein the Battle of Hastings is replaced by a medieval battle between the Simpsons and the Flanders over the Simpsons' couch. Hopefully you saw or recorded it.

5) The Other Boleyn Girl: The book currently occupying my nightstand. I though I'd better read it before the movie comes out. I am, though, getting a little confused by reading this at the same time I'm watching The Tudors. Still, there's no such thing as too much of a good thing.

The Great Reading List of '08

2008-01-07T14:28:00.001-08:00

So I've been meaning to add a "Books I'm reading/read" widget for a while now, and what better time than the New Year to start tracking my reading habits? Nobody has ever questioned that I read a lot (hello--Literature major?), but this year I will discover exactly how many books I read. I'm even going to try to review the books I read, but we'll see how that goes...no promises. So far I haven't completed any books, so the two you see in my sidebar are both "in progress." Check it out!

Who's Your Candidate?

2008-01-06T11:28:00.000-08:00

Well, my boy Joe Biden has dropped out of the presidential race--I'm not at all surprised, but still disappointed. However, according to this quiz, I shouldn't have been supporting him in the first place--I should have been supporting Dennis Kucinich, with whom I agree on 94% of the issues important to me. Hmph. Who knew? Because, you know, HE has such a great chance at making it to the nomination! Second place is bat-shit crazy Mike Gravel, followed by Edwards, then Richardson, then Clinton, then Obama. Funny how my issues preferences seem to be inverse to how each candidate is doing. If I were a Republican, my best match would be Ron Paul (blech!) followed by John McCain.

As much as I dislike one's civic duties being narrowed down to a five-minute quiz, I must admit, it's pretty cool and you should check it out. At least it's better than choosing/not choosing somebody because you just have a "good/bad feeling" about him/her.

Let me know your results!

Baby, It's Cold Outside

2008-01-05T11:45:00.000-08:00

Welcoming 2008

2008-01-01T11:23:00.001-08:00

It ain't Vegas, but it's home.

I love him just as much this year as last year.

And a happy new year!

Because I Have Nothing Better to Do

2007-12-30T02:23:00.000-08:00

I have started reviewing on Yelp. Y'know, I was just sitting here in the middle of the night, and I was all like, you know what I need to do? Avoid my blog and start writing reviews for strangers on the internet. But I've been having fun, so, whatever. Then I found out that I can get blog bling, so it's kind of like killing two birds with one stone. Check out my sidebar for links to my very important opinions on all things Reno. I've written six reviews so far. I've been going through all the places I've been in the past month. We eat out a lot in December. And January. And now that the internet is depending on my reviews, maybe we'll even eat out a lot in February.

A Christmas Gift for You!

2007-12-24T14:20:00.000-08:00

As a Christmas gift for my readers (all 12 of them a day), I thought I would share the recipe for our favorite Christmas drink, Cola de Mono (Tail of the Monkey). It's not a secret recipe or anything--I got it out of the Sundays at Moosewood cookbook (the only vegetarian cookbook allowed in our house) several years ago--but I have included my tips for success, so MERRY CHRISTMAS!

What you will need:
12 cups of milk (whole or 2% work best)
2 cups of white sugar
5 cinnamon sticks
1/2 cup of instant coffee
2 teaspoons of vanilla extract
4 cups tequila

A one gallon glass jug (buy a gallon of apple cider, drink the juice, and voila! you have a glass jug!
A large stockpot
A funnel

What to Do:
In stockpot, bring milk, sugar, and cinnamon sticks to a boil. (Warning: AS SOON AS the milk starts to boil, it will rapidly foam over. This is why you need to use a large pot and keep a close eye on your milk...trust me, I have had to scrub milk off the stovetop more than once.)

Remove milk from heat and stir in instant coffee. Let sit for an hour to cool down.

Once cooled, remove cinnamon sticks and pour milk into gallon jug using funnel to avoid a really horrific mess (again, experience is the best teacher). Put in refrigerator to chill.

Once chilled, add tequila and vanilla.

Serve cold. "Tail" will keep in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks, although it rarely lasts that long.

Despite the odd-sounding combination of ingredients, this drink is GOOD STUFF! However, because it is so tasty and so sweet, people have a tendency to suck it down. Beware, for the Tail of the Monkey will knock you right on your ass if you do not exercise restraint!

Enjoy, and Merry Christmas!

A Christmas Carol

2007-12-23T10:52:00.000-08:00

Thanks to my friend Jason for e-mailing me this very cool performance.

Playgroup Grinch

2007-12-20T12:50:00.001-08:00

Last week Matilda and I joined Crystal and Luci at their playgroup's holiday party. It was at some bounce-house-super-extravaganza place in town where kids are free to give in to their inner-beasties and run around slamming into each other and the walls without causing too much damage. This was especially interesting for Matilda, who, having just learned to walk, was a bit confused by this new challenge to her mobility. Thus, she reverted to crawling or simply sitting and trying to ward off the other children with her evil glare.

Why is this girl invading my personal space?

The world has become so squishy!

By far her favorite part of the party was the dress-up room, where kids are able to don costumes, get on a stage, and sing karaoke. Matilda stood up there modeling her outfit, perfectly content just to be in the spotlight. I have no idea where she gets that from!

The lovely cowgirl fairy.

I feel really bad when I take M. to things like this because it becomes clear to me that she does not play well with others. It's not that she's anti-social; she just doesn't know how to play and is overwhelmed by other kids. Apart from Luci, all of her playmates are adults and dogs. The obvious answer would be for me to join a playgroup myself, except for one small glitch--I LOATHE playgroups.

I don't want to sound like a snob here--I'm not saying I'm too cool for playgroup or anything--I'm just a woman who had a kid despite the fact that I hate being around kids. Young kids, that is--the five-and-under kind who have no ability to reason or empathize and are just like a bunch of evil little monkeys. Screaming evil little monkeys. I can tolerate my own kid, kids related to me by blood, and the kids of my good friends, but throw me into a room with twenty or so strangers' kids and well, that's just one of the rings in my own personal hell.

You see, playgroup is chaotic, and me no likey the chaos. I like structure and organization and careful planning. There are plenty of people out there who can just tune out the maelstrom, who can, for example, sit around breastfeeding and putting together snacks while conversing non-stop about pregnancy while a dozen toddlers chase each other screaming. I cannot. I want to find a kidney table and sit the kids around it for craft time or story time or any kind of time that involves them focused on some activity rather than testing my nerves.

If I were a better mother, I'd make the sacrifice and take M. to playgroup despite the threat to my own sanity...but I'm selfish and am not willing to endanger my mental well-being for M. to be well-socialized. She'll just have to be a little hermit baby until she starts pre-school.

Aaahh...preschool.

Matilda's New Word

2007-12-18T09:37:00.000-08:00

"Mine."
This is my toy.

"MINE!"
That is my toy do not touch it!

"Mine?"
I know that this is not mine, but I'm hoping you'll let me have it anyways?

"Mine." (with hugs)
I love you.

"Mine, mine, mine..."
I want it ALL!

"...MIIIIIIIINE!"
...and I want it NOW!

A Christmas Miracle!

2007-12-17T16:21:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Baby Jesus, for the three Christmas cards I got today. I love the Westermans, the Kochs, and the Hollmeiers. Plus, two of them were PHOTO cards! My favorite! In honor of this Christmas miracle, have a dose of holiday adorableness...

This one goes out to Dan:

Poo-tastic!

2007-12-16T21:13:00.000-08:00

Usually I am the killer of all e-mail forwards...but this one that I got from my mom is so great I had to share it with everyone.

Find more videos like this on AdBakery.com

Crazy Christmas Lady

2007-12-16T11:20:00.000-08:00

Okay, after my last post my beloved readers may be wondering, "Why has Tracy become psychotic over a few Christmas cards?" You have to understand my over-developed sense of Christmas spirit. Starting the Saturday after Thanksgiving (because Christmas starts the day after Thanksgiving, NOT at Halloween!), my house gets transformed. First, I must find the PERFECT tree:

Luckily, I have a few good friends who understand that my OCD becomes particularly rampant during Christmas tree shopping, particularly Crystal, who sets aside a whole day every year to join me in my search. Happily, this year I only took an hour to find the perfect tree, rather than the all-day search that I usually undergo.

Then--oh the irony--I must employ other people to put the lights on my perfect tree because I am allergic to pine needles and break out in a rash when my skin comes into contact with those prickly buggers. Thus was the Christmas Tree Decorating Party born eleven years ago. To persuade my friends to take on the task of putting thousands of lights on my tree according to my very stringent lighting standards, I feed them lots of food and fill them up with lots of free booze.

This year we had twenty-two laborers, including Ben, who showed his holiday spirit by bringing his Dick-in-a-Box.

(Anyone brave enough to open the gift saw this:)

Himself and I also work very hard.

Not until my house looks like Christmas vomited all over it am I happy.

Then all there is to do until Christmas is sit back, admire my tree, drink copious amounts of 'nog, make cookies, and wait for the Christmas cards to start rolling in. (Imagine me as Bart Simpson to the mail lady--"Lady, where's my spy camera?! Where's my spy camera? Where's my spy camera?") I need those Christmas cards like a junkie needs a vein. They complete me. So thank you, Micaela, Heather, Megan, Erin, Dad, and Becky...you are at the top of Santa's "nice" list.

Upon Getting my Mail Just Now

2007-12-14T14:42:00.001-08:00

Where the fuck are my Christmas cards?

Three days and nothing but junk mail.

Fuck you, Ron Paul, disguising your propaganda as a Christmas Card. You do not have my vote.

I sent out EIGHTY cards--I expect some RECIPROCATION PEOPLE!

Merry Christmas.

.

A Visit to St. Nick

2007-12-14T09:39:00.000-08:00

I have my chocolate milk and am prepared to meet Santa.

Here I come, Santa!

Santa, where are you?

Dammit, Luci, I want to go first!

WOAH! What the hell is this?! I have CHANGED MY MIND!

No means NO, Mama!

Why do they torture me like this?

Fine. Just take the F--ing picture already.

A Visual Representation of M.'s New Attitude on Life

2007-12-12T09:11:00.000-08:00

DO MY BIDDING!

The Futility of Trying to Photograph 2 Babies and 2 Toddlers

2007-12-11T16:48:00.000-08:00

A PHOTO ESSAY

Good, but maybe we can do better...

Faces front please, children!

The handlers intercede.

Wait a sec, they've got to get back into character...

...yes, there's the character!

This is exhausting!

We who lack mobility salute you!

Paving the Road to Hell

2007-12-04T11:48:00.000-08:00

So once again I have failed utterly at Nablopomo. I'm sure I won some fabulous prize, but Fussy had to pass me over in disgust because I stopped posting less than halfway through the month. I'm sure that Oprah is also feeling disappointed, as she is a big fan of my blog. What else explains the fact that the next day after I wrote that I think everyone should read Pillars of the Earth, Oprah announced that it was her new book of the month? She totally got that idea from my blog. Totally.

Sorry, Oprah, that I blew Nablopomo...again.

Nablopomo: Day Eleven

2007-11-11T09:47:00.000-08:00

Teeth! Finally!

Matilda is what they (and by "they" I mean whoever it is that sets these standards) call a "late teether." This is one possible explanation for her being such an exceptionally well-behaved baby. As of her first birthday she had only one little bottom tooth poking out. As of today she has five--both bottom center, both top center, and one top side, with a little bubble already forming for the other top side. Just as I'd feared--because she waited so long, they are all coming in at one time. It doesn't seem to bother her much, though. In fact, she is having lots of fun with her new chompers. She likes biting things--crackers, books, Mama--and she especially likes making the world's most horrible noise by grinding her teeth together. I'm not sure if she's suffering from severe baby stress or what, but it is a horrible habit, and I'm not really sure what, if anything, to do about it.

Has anyone else out there in the blogosphere had this problem? Is my baby going to grind her new teeth down into little nubs?

We've also started a dental health regimen--that is, we're teaching M. to brush her teeth.

Agh! GRANDMA TONNA! What are you doing!

Oh, okay GRANDMA TONNA, I think I got this now.

Tooth brushing pro!

This post dedicated to GRANDMA TONNA. If you do not understand why GRANDMA TONNA is in all caps, then you are not GRANDMA TONNA.

Nablopomo: Day Ten

2007-11-10T10:43:00.000-08:00

So far, so good!

For today's post, a fun game. Go here. The game is easy. When you see one of the differences between the two pictures, click it. I recommend playing in full screen mode. Very addicting.

Happy Weekend!

Nablopomo: Day Nine

2007-11-09T07:47:00.001-08:00

Another rewind...

Last month we made our annual trip to Apple Hill near Placerville. Last year Matilda was just a teeny little thing, but this year she was big enough to have some real fun! We started out at High Hill Ranch to get some apple cider milkshakes. M. shared our milkshakes with us (if grunting in a way that says "Hand over the milkshakes and nobody gets hurt" constitutes sharing).

After sucking down everone's milkshake, she was full of enough strength and energy to wrangle a bear.

(Ignore the red-headed woman behind the bear.)

Then she took a pony ride...

"Faster, pony! Faster!"

But most of all, she developed a deep and abiding love for pumpkins...

Big pumpkins...
Little pumpkins...Fake pumpkins...And medium pumpkins.
"Pumpkin! Get in my belly!"

My daughter, the gourdophile.

Nablopomo: Day Eight

2007-11-08T09:13:00.001-08:00

This is Count Strahd Von Zarovich, Terrorizer of Barovia, Dark Lord of Castle Ravenloft.

And he is dead. We killed him last night at my dining room table. It took us a year of Wednesday nights, but he is turned to dust, the castle is cleansed, and Barovia is saved.

Just one step closer to winning the War on Terror.

You're welcome.

.

Nablopomo: Day Seven

2007-11-07T08:11:00.001-08:00

The nice thing about not having blogged in two months is that I have so many pictures to catch up on! So far I am not at a loss for things to post about for Nablopomo. (We'll see if that holds true twenty days from now.) Here is our trip to the San Diego Zoo back in October after our trip to Mexico.

Matilda rides a tortuga. (I know, it's so REAL, right?)

Here she makes friends with an orangutan...

...and some fish.

And of course we must pet all the bronze animals.

M. gets some tips from a baby monkey on how best to cling to Mama.

Nablopomo: Day Six

2007-11-06T22:37:00.001-08:00

My Dad lives in Mexico. He and my uncles and my cousin Darrin all went in together a couple years back to buy this little house as a vacation getaway.

After his retirement became official, Dad decided to live down there full time. Many people ask where in Mexico my Dad lives, but it's hard to explain because he doesn't really live by any major city. Dad lives in Campo del Prado. Here is the turnoff:

In case that doesn't pinpoint it for you, how about this?

No? Okay, let's just say that my Dad lives in Eastern Baja, near the armpit of where baja connects to the rest of Mexico, in the Colorado River delta, or rather, where the Colorado River delta would be if the Colorado still ran free but which is now miles and miles of mud flats and irrigation canals. He lives on the Rio Hardy, a tributary of the Colorado. Here is the Rio Hardy as seen from my Dad's back porch:

Lovely, no?

This is my Dad and his girlfriend Delia, who, as you can see, Matilda became quite enamored with on our trip down there in October.

Delia does not have a travel visa, so this was the first time we got to meet her. My cousin Darrin came down for the weekend, too, and I got to spend quality time with him in the cantina down the river:
At first we fought a heated ping pong battle between us, but then we realized that we were, in fact, family, and that our powers were better utilized as a united team rather than as individual adversaries. Here Darrin intimidates the opponents of Team Sangster, the all-powerful pong alliance.

During our visit, Dad took us to San Felipe to enjoy the beach. He bought Matilda a couple of little Mexican dresses. Here she models one of them:

I know, I know, she looks like a tiny little Mexican, right? I better keep an eye out for the INS now that I've posted this on the internet, as they are sure to be breaking down my door to drag M. back to Mexico.

Nablopomo: Day Five

2007-11-05T19:39:00.001-08:00

Some of you may have noticed that the first five days of Nablopomo got posted at once. Yes, I cheated. But only because I was reading a book SO GOOD that I could not possibly put it down to blog. One of my favorite books in the world is Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth, and this month a sequel was released! Twenty years later! World Without End was so delicious that I just wanted to lick it up and down until the pages were soggy...all 1014 of them. I highly recommend it. If medieval historical fiction involving lots of evil noblemen, corrupt priests, and horny nuns is your thing, you should definitely pick it up. In the spirit of this recommendation, I thought I would use today's post to present you with a list of my top ten favorite books of all time. In no particular order:

The Lord of the Rings: Obviously. I read The Hobbit for the first time when I was in the third grade, and it totally rocked my world. The Lord of the Rings followed in the fourth grade, and I am not exaggerating when I say that it influenced my life. It could be argued that these books are why I became a literature major. If you haven't read these books, well, you are incomplete.

The Stand: Not only Stephen King's best work, but also a great work of literature. I know such things should not be said about King, especially by a scholar like myself, but I think this book will stand the test of time as one of the 20th century's great books.

The Pillars of the Earth: This book centers around the building of a cathedral in medieval England. Sounds boring, I know, but it is so addicting you'll want to liquify it and inject it into your veins directly. Warning, this book contains lots of graphic violence and sex...not for the queasy.

Prince of Tides: If you have only ever seen the piece-of-crap movie starring the ridiculously mis-cast Barbara Streisand, you must read this book. It is SO much better than the movie! If you haven't seen the movie--don't. You'll only waste time you could have spent reading the book. I made my mom read this book last year, and she said, "I love this book so much I wish it would just go on forever and I would never have to read another book."

Ahab's Wife: A gorgeous novel that tells the story of Ahab's mysterious wife who is only given one paragraph in the whole of Moby Dick. Not an easy read, but a worthwhile one. So passionate!

Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass: This book probably began my obsession with British culture and my obsession with fantasy. I have loved it for as long as I can remember, and it is one of those rare books that is just as great when you read it as an adult.

Into Thin Air: Sometimes truth is better than fiction. This book is so exciting and tragic that it reads like a novel, and then the fact that what you're reading is a true story sinks in and takes your breath away.

The Belgariad: Kind of like Lord of the Rings Jr., this series of books is the story about a boy who finds he is descended from great wizards. (What do they say about there being no original stories?) These books are just a lot of fun.

Anne of Green Gables: On the required reading list for every girl, and still one of my favorite books. Anne is one of literature's great heroines.

Mists of Avalon: This Arthurian epic wakes up the feminist in you and feeds it well. An intriguing book about the women of the legends of King Arthur. I adore anything Arthurian, anyways, but this book is my favorite.

I'm sure there are many books I have missed--I kind of threw this list together with the first ten books that sprang to mind. The astute amongst you may notice that most of my favorite books fall under the "bestseller" category rather than the "classics" category. I'm sure that a literature scholar should come up with a far more sophisticated range of favorite books, but the truth is, the books I love the most are the ones I can lose myself in, not the ones that make me think. There are lots of classics I adore, though, such as Moby Dick, Beowulf, Lady Chatterley's Lover, The Fountainhead, To Kill a Mockingbird, Heart of Darkness, Fahrenheit 451, and Love in the Time of Cholera. Damnit, let's just say that I can't possibly narrow it down to ten, or that I should have several different lists...but all the above books are really, REALLY good!

Nablopomo: Day Four

2007-11-04T19:47:00.001-08:00

Now for something a little lighter...

Rewind to late September and Matilda's first visit to a farm. We took a trip out to Fallon with the Atamians to visit Lattin Farms, a cool place to do Autumn-y type things.

Matilda made friends with some goats, although she wasn't allowed to handle any goat food because she found it so tasty herself...

...and where we got lost for a ridiculously long time trying to navigate this deceptively difficult corn maze. I found it suprising that they didn't send us in there with some flairs.

It was also at Lattin Farms where Matilda tried for the first time and became immediately addicted to...

Nablopomo: Day Three

2007-11-03T22:14:00.001-07:00

In case Nablopomo hasn't been depressing enough so far, here's another one:

Grendel
July 1996-October 2007

Good Boy

Nablopomo: Day Two

2007-11-02T18:31:00.001-07:00

In the interest of full disclosure, I feel that I should let everybody know that I quit my Ph.D. program. This happened a few months ago, but it is one of those things that one really has to come to terms with oneself before announcing it to the world. I don't know if I have really come to terms with it, but I am least ready to let people know. Here are my reasons for this decision:

I was so far behind in my studies. I don't feel badly about this because I have lots of good reasons for not being right on track with my program. Getting engaged, getting married, going through infertility treatments, and having a baby are all little snags that slowed me up...in other words, life happened to me while I was trying to pursue a Ph.D., and I was not willing to put life on hold until after my doctorate came through.
I lost my fellowship. Well, I didn't lose it, it just expired (see number one). It's a lot harder to go to school when you actually have to pay for it. Especially when you just had a baby and your husband is supporting the whole family. Plus, without a fellowship I am no longer teaching, and teaching is my one big motivation to do this job. Without it, I have completely lost my passion for my studies.
I already have the degree that I need to do the job I want to do. I have always wanted to teach at the community college level. My passion is for teaching, not for scholarship, and if I got a job at the university level my teaching would be considered secondary. I have only ever wanted to teach at a CC where I don't have the pressure of being published and can put all of my energy into being the best teacher I can be. I only need an M.A. for that. I only ever went into the Ph.D. program to make myself more marketable and to raise my earning potential. At this point, I just want to get hired and start teaching full time. I'm sick of being a student.
I am pessimistic about the job market. My experience with going on the job market last year was pretty miserable, and I hear the same sort of stories from folks who HAVE their Ph.D. If someone could guarantee that if I finished up my doctorate I would have a job waiting for me, I would absolutely do it. However, I would feel doubly miserable if I put all that time and energy and money into completing my program and then be no better off than I am now.
There are many women who can raise a baby and complete a dissertation at the same time. I am not one of those women. Shit, I can't even keep this damn blog up to date.

Although all of the above reasons are pretty good ones, and my advisor agrees with me and feels I'm making the right decision, I still feel pretty miserable about it. Obviously, I feel like a HUGE failure, and that the fact that I am half a doctor will hang over my head for the rest of my life, not to mention a fuckload of student loan debt. Also, I feel so stupid for ever leaving Southern California--the only reason we moved to Reno is so that I could get this degree, and now we're kind of stuck here. It's times like this that you just have to believe that things happen for a reason. I really do miss my teaching terribly, though, and would give anything to be back in the classroom again.

Nablopomo: Day One

2007-11-01T20:59:00.001-07:00

So because I did such a great job of it last year, I have signed up to do Nablopomo again. I dunno, I guess I like to set myself up for failure. This is especially apparent because I have not posted anything in nearly two months and now I think I can start posting every day. Uh huh.

So today is day one. I will start with an apology for my extended absence. There are many reasons, but it all boils down to: I have just not felt like blogging. Plus, I have this huge post that I have been working on to commemorate Matilda's first birthday (back in September), and it's still not finished. One of my greatest character flaws is my inability to move on when I have been unable to perfectly complete some other huge task I have set for myself. Because I had not perfected the first birthday post, I was incapable of writing anything else. This has always been a problem. I remember in the sixth grade we were all assigned to draw pictures of dragons. (For the life of me, I cannot remember why we were assigned this particular task.) Everyone else in the class finished their drawings in a couple of days and all of the results were tacked up around the room. I, on the other hand, had to create this intricate portrait of a warrior princess fighting a serpentine water dragon--a fantastic and complex undertaking that would have been the greatest dragon in the class if I had ever finished it. As it was, I was never able to get it JUST RIGHT and so it sat in the bottom of my desk for the rest of the school year, never to be admired on the classroom wall.

I get a lot of compliments on those things in life that I do manage to complete to my strict standards--compliments about how everything I bother doing is done so well. This is nice to hear, but people don't understand that for everything they see that looks so good are a dozen other projects frustrating the hell out of me because I cannot get them JUST RIGHT. These failures haunt me to the point of incapacitation. I go two months without posting a blog entry because I cannot get that last one to be perfect. This is the mixed blessing of being OCD...the things that you manage to finish are exquisite, but the things that are less than exquisite sit in the bottom of your desk mocking you and undermining your joy about those other accomplishments. There is a very fine line between meticulous and neurotic.

A Year Ago Today

2007-09-13T12:07:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

6:30am
In the pre-dawn hours I eat breakfast with Pop and Ian. If I had known that this was the last solid food I would be eating for the next 60 hours, I would have insisted on eating more than an egg sandwich and Ovaltine. Like a trip down the buffet at The Peppermill. Twice. As it is, this egg-sandwich is going to have to work very, very hard.

7:30am
Ian, Pop, and I show up at the hospital for my scheduled induction. I am promptly shown to a birthing room by a harried-looking nurse who seems to assume that I have done this all before. She leaves the three of us alone to ponder the bed, the gown folded neatly on top of it, and each other. Eventually our labor nurse, Nurse Stephanie, shows up and seems puzzled as to why I am not dressed and in bed waiting to be hooked up to the various machines in the room. She doesn’t seem to grasp that I have never done this before and that I really have no idea what to do. She explains to us that I need to change into my gown and hop into bed. This is almost as confusing as the first time I had a massage. You mean totally naked? Yes? Okey dokey.

7:50 am
My OB shows up and asks how I'm feeling while proceeding to try to fit his entire arm inside of me. I mention that I've been better. He announces that I am 2 cm dilated and 80% effaced. This sounds promising to me. He then unwraps what appears to be a chopstick and pokes it right on in there, releasing a flood of amniotic fluid onto the bed—the same bed I'm supposed to lie in for the next several hours. I kind of thought that they would use some sort of bucket or bedpan to catch this deluge, but apparently I am just supposed to lie in this nasty mess. How fun. Meanwhile, Nurse Stephanie continues to poke my hand over and over, trying to get the IV in and working. She doesn’t seem to be very good at this.

8:00am
I am officially in labor. On my right I am hooked up to a monitor that records my contractions (via the sensor wrapped around my belly), the baby's heart rate (via the sensors stuck on her head inside me), and my blood pressure (via an automatic blood pressure cuff that goes off every 15 minutes). On my left is an impressively arrayed IV rack that holds bags of fluids, pitocin, and antibiotics, all of which are wired into my arm. I feel like I'm in one of those creepy cocoons in The Matrix. I am still leaking fluids as though I am in a perpetual state of bed-wetting. Nurse Stephanie tells me that I am having contractions 3 minutes apart, but they're so mild that I barely even feel them.

11:00am
My mom shows up, and Ian departs to buy me some lip goo, one minor necessity I have forgotten to pack. I am comfortable and happy—my leaking stopped a while ago, and Nurse Stephanie has provided several thick cotton pads to separate my skin from the soaked bed. We watch A Baby Story on the TV, and I contemplate the irony of watching a woman give birth on the television while I myself am giving birth. I mock the woman on television for not getting her epidural—I will not make that mistake. The blood pressure cuff is pissing me off. Every time it swells up, the Velcro pops open, setting off a very noisy alarm on the monitor. After about the fifth time that she has to answer the alarm, Nurse Stephanie goes off to find an “extra large” cuff, leaving me with a complex about my upper arm flab.

12:00pm
I get "checked" (read: violated) again and am now 4 cm dilated. My contractions are 2 minutes apart. Not bad. The contractions are still very manageable, although another stomach pain is making itself known—I’m hungry. It is time for lunch! Nurse Stephanie brings me green Jello and some Saltines. Uh, thanks, lady, but I didn’t get this body on Jello and crackers. Nurse Stephanie informs me that I won't be allowed to eat anything solid until the baby comes. WHAT?! What kinds of sadists run this place?! Fuck. Matilda better come soon.

1:30pm
I can feel the contractions now. Unpleasant, but totally bearable. I still decide now is a good time to ask for my epidural. No use waiting until I’m actually in pain. Ian takes the opportunity to go grab some lunch. I warn him that anybody entering my room with food will be stabbed in the face with an IV needle. He decides to eat in the cafeteria.

2:00pm
Dr. Feelgood (aka, the anesthesiologist) shows up. I don’t look at The Very Large Needle he’s about to insert into my spine, but, based on the look on everyone’s faces, it ain’t pretty. Happily, the procedure is nearly painless and not at all disturbing. The pain begins subsiding almost immediately. I thank Dr. Feelgood profusely. He is my new best friend.

2:30pm
Nurse Stephanie checks me again. She pauses, feels around some more, pauses, and feels around some more. There is a look of confusion on her face. I become worried. "How's it going?" I ask. "Well," she begins, and feels around some more (at this point, thankfully, the epidural has erased all the discomfort of having someone stick their hand into my cervix), "I don't think I feel anything. You're 9cm dilated." We are all shocked. I'm almost there! I can't believe it went so fast! I am a master of childbirth! I am ecstatic that everything has gone so quickly and so easily. Soon I will be giving birth, and then I can eat! Hooray! Mom and Pop are proud of me. Ian beams. I feel like a natural woman. I think, maybe I shouldn't have gotten the epidural after all...this is a piece of cake! Oh hubris.

2:45pm
Ian goes to get something to drink. Nurse Stephanie warns him not be gone long; the baby will be coming soon. She prepares for the birth, unfolding the baby station and turning on all the machines. It’s time to have a baby.

3:00pm
We do some practice pushes. Because my epidural is still so fresh, I can't feel a thing below my waist, so I just make a scrunched-up pushing face like the ladies I see on TV and will myself to push, although I'm not at all sure if I'm succeeding. Nurse Stephanie says I'm doing a great job pushing, but we're still at 9cm, so it's not time yet.

4:00pm
Nurse Stephanie checks me again. Still at 9cm. She seems confused by this. I am so hungry I want to eat her.

5:00pm
We do some practice pushes again to see if that gets things moving. This time, Nurse Stephanie seems perplexed. "There's still some cervix." She goes to get another nurse for a second opinion. This nurse checks me and glares at Nurse Stephanie with a look that obviously says, "You messed up so bad, but I'm not going to say anything in front of the patient, lest we freak her out." I ask her, "How many centimeters?" She pauses, "5.5 to 6." Oh. My. God. My heart sinks. The mood in the room darkens considerably. My stomach growls. I cannot believe that Nurse Stephanie was SO wrong. I cannot believe that I am so far behind. I am not a birthing goddess after all. I suck. And I am hungry. Shortly thereafter, the OB arrives and confirms that I am only 6cm dilated. He seems disappointed. Everybody is disappointed. I want a drink.

5:30-9:00pm
Things start to get kind of blurry in the timeline here, as I have lost all my momentum and am delirious with hunger. I get several visitors: my sister and her boyfriend, my friends Mike and Crystal, and Micaela. Ian, Mom, and Pop take turns going out for breaks so that they can trade out the guest passes with other visitors. It’s like an open house in here! I love it. Some women don’t like to have lots of people around when they’re in labor, but I am starving, and anything to distract me from my hunger is welcome. Nurse Stephanie goes off shift and Nurse Somebodyelse takes her place. The epidural wears off and I experience about half an hour of painful contractions before Dr. Feelgood shows up to top off my epidural. I do very well with the contractions—breathing through them, keeping my eyes open, relaxing my face—and everyone is very pleased with me. I imagine that I could probably handle the labor without the epidural, but then I think…Why? Given the choice between severe pain and no pain at all, I'll always go with no pain at all. But did I mention how hungry I am? By now, my hunger pains are nearly as intense as my contractions, and the epidural doesn't do anything to help the hunger.

10:00pm
I have been sleeping for about an hour when the OB arrives to check on me. I am at 7 cm. He says I need to start thinking about a c-section because I am not progressing well. Should we do it now? He has to zip over to the other hospital to deliver another patient, so if we don't do it now then we'll have to wait until about midnight. Although I am not opposed to a c-section, I'm just not ready to throw in the towel yet, so I suggest that he check me again at midnight and we'll decide then. He agrees that this is a good idea. Hindsight being 20/20, I should have demanded the c-section then and saved myself eight hours of misery. Oh well.

11:45pm
The OB is still at the other hospital, so he calls Nurse Somebodyelse and asks her to check me. I am at 8cm. The OB is very pleased with this and says it sounds like I've started to progress—he no longer wants to do the c-section. He'll be back in a few hours, and we’ll deliver the baby then. I start to cry. Why do I cry? From pain? No, I just had my epidural topped off again. I feel fine. From boredom? No, I have plenty of good company in Ian, Mom, and Pop, who are all still sticking it out with me. From frustration? No, I feel I could go for several more hours if only they'd give me some food! I am crying because I am SO FUCKING HUNGRY! I literally start begging the nurse for something to eat. My uncontrollable sobbing, along with some mildly threatening tones from my father, eventually break her down, and she brings me a piece of white bread and a bowl of broth. Oh goody. It takes the edge off, but only barely.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

12:00am
A new day. I decide to try to sleep so that I don't feel the hunger. Sleep is difficult, though, when a blood pressure cuff starts squeezing the shit out of my arm every 15 minutes. I hate that thing. I hate the nurse. I hate my OB. I hate anyone who ever had an easy labor. Must. Go. To sleep.

12:00am-4:00am
I sleep. I wake up. I eat dozens of Saltines. I send my Mom and Ian out on secret Saltine-stealing expeditions, figuring that if I eat enough Saltines, they'll equal one actual meal. They don't. It’s dark in the room except for the lights on all of the machines—all of those machines that are still open and ready for me to have the baby at any minute. I sleep. Ian reads. Pop sleeps. I wake up. Mom reads. Dr. Feelgood has to top me off again. Mom gives me ice and tries to convince me to go off the drugs. Everything seems so surreal—this is the longest I have been in the same room with both my parents since I was 9. I sleep. Ian dozes. The OB comes by while I'm sleeping, but the baby's not ready yet, so he let's me sleep. The OB goes to the on-call room to sleep. And maybe eat, too. Bastard.

4:00am
The OB checks me again. I'm at 8.5cm. I decide. It’s time for the c-section. I'm so hungry that I'm willing to undergo major abdominal surgery if it means I'll get to eat. They're just about to wheel in another woman for an emergency c-section, though, so I have to wait. Nurse Somebodyelse tells me I should be able to go in at 6am. I don't really care. All I care about is food. I've pretty much stopped thinking about the baby altogether.

5:30am
Nurse Somebodyelse shaves my pubes and prepares me for surgery. Ian is given his stylish scrub blues to change into. We’re ready.

6:00am
I am wheeled in for surgery. The one thing that I knew would scare me about having a c-section was the space of time between when they take the woman into the OR and when they let the husband in. Getting prepped for surgery is scary enough without having to do it alone. I dreaded the 15 minutes or so that I wouldn't have Ian by my side.

They wheel my bed up to the operating table, and two very strong nurses lift me onto its cold, steel surface. Immediately, I am in pain. I have been molded into that hospital bed for nearly 24 hours, and the switch to the hard, flat table causes me extreme discomfort. I am concentrating so hard on trying to be calm and comfortable that I can’t pay attention to what is going on around me. I desperately want Ian here so that I can tell him, make him explain to all of these people that I’m not going to be able to sit still because my back hurts so bad. And then I think, my back shouldn’t be hurting! I shouldn’t be feeling anything. I look up at Dr. Feelgood and tell him that my back hurts. He’s busy juicing me up and tells me, “Just give it a minute.” I wait, trying to ignore my aching back, looking at the door and waiting for Ian to enter. The surgical team is busy getting ready to cut. They hang the blue drape in front of my face. They strap down my arms. Dr. Feelgood gives Nurse Somebodyelse the OK sign, and she starts to rub that orange stuff all over my belly.

And I feel it. Not just the pressure, or the cold, but I feel the scratchiness of the swab she is using. I feel the orange stuff dripping down my belly. I FEEL it. I start to panic, and I start to yell. I yell for Dr. Feelgood and tell him that I can feel what they’re doing. He pats my arm and tells me not to worry, the OB will check me for sensation before he starts to cut. They put a heavy cloth on my belly and I feel it. I feel the hole in the cloth where they intend to cut. And Ian is still not there. I keep saying, “I feel it. I feel it.” But my voice sounds weak and I’m not sure if I’m really saying anything at all. I just want Ian. More than anything I want Ian. I’m imagining Ian walking through the door. I hear my OB from the other side of the drape. “Did you feel that?” “No,” I answer, not sure what I was supposed to feel. The next thing I do feel is a scalpel. I lose all connection with any sane or reasonable part of myself and start freaking the fuck out. Right then, Ian walks in.

I feel them cutting. The pain is slightly numbed, but not gone. It feels like somebody with a very sharp pencil is drawing a line across my abdomen. Hard. I feel this repeated, over and over until they’re all the way in. I am trying, trying to stay calm. The last thing I want is to start flopping around when they have a scalpel in me. I focus on Ian. I tell him that I feel it. I feel them cutting. I beg him to do something. I beg Dr. Feelgood (henceforth to be known as Dr. Shithead). I beg him to give me more drugs. He tells me that I have to wait. I try to calm down, try to be a good patient. Ian is rubbing my hand. I look straight up and realize that I can see the large surgical light, that it reflects, that I can see something resembling roadkill in the glass, that the roadkill is my belly.

And then the pulling stars. They are ripping me open to get to the baby. I avert my eyes, madly trying to look at anything besides the light. I squeeze Ian’s hand as hard as I can, but the pain is so bad that I can’t articulate anything. All I can say is “Pain, pain, pain,” over and over again, hoping that Ian will save me, that he’ll leap over the drape and punch out the OB, and that he’ll grab Dr. Shithead by the collar and shake him until he gives me more drugs. But Ian looks pale, shaken—he is as helpless as I am. I look over at Dr. Shithead and start screaming. I can’t help it; it hurts so much. Dr. Shithead leans over my face and tells me, “You have to calm down—your blood pressure.” I shake my head. I need out, out of this torture chamber. “I’ll give you more anesthetic as soon as the baby is out,” he promises. Ian cuts in, “And when, exactly, will that be?” I can tell by his tone that he is on the verge of screaming, too. “Just two more minutes,” Dr. Shithead answers.

Okay, okay, I can make it two more minutes. I try to calm down. I close my eyes and focus inward. I begin to shake violently. I hear Dr. Shithead telling me to take deep breaths. I breathe. I shake. I wait to hear Matilda cry. As soon as I hear her cry, Dr. Shithead can give me more drugs. I wait to hear her cry. Two minutes passes. Something is wrong. There is no cry. People are rushing in and out of the OR. Something is wrong. Something with the baby. The baby is going to die. I am going to die. How did this happen? Where is the baby? Why isn’t anyone telling me anything? I look at Ian again. If the baby is dead, surely it’ll show on his face. I feel more shoving and pulling and ripping, and finally, finally, Matilda is out. She is crying. Somebody tells me it’s a girl. She’s healthy. Ian looks at me, smiling. “She’s out!”

But I don’t care. I can’t care. The pain is overwhelming. All I can think about is that pain going away. And then it hits me. They are going to start putting me back together. I will feel it. I will feel every suture. How am I going to take this? I can’t, can’t do it! I grab Ian’s hand and once again, “Pain, pain, pain.” Ian tells me that Dr. Shithead has already given me more medicine…don’t I feel it yet? “Pain, pain, pain…”

7:30am
I hear Ian talking. I’m not sure who he’s talking to. I feel good. Comfortable. Warm. Ian’s voice sounds nice…what is he saying? “…perfect…red hair…Tracy’s fine…” I’m fine? That’s good to know. Where am I? I try to open my eyes, but it’s too much effort. I decide to just relax and listen. Ian is talking to on the phone. His mom? He seems to be the only one here. I’m back in a comfortable bed. And I feel good. Where is my baby? Then I hear Pop’s voice. “Is she awake yet?” “I think she’s waking up,” Ian says, and I am. I feel my eyelids blinking, and then I can see. I’m back in the same labor room. It’s empty, and all the birthing equipment is put back away. The nurse comes in. It’s Nurse Stephanie again—I have cycled through another full shift. She tells me everything is fine. I’m fine. The baby is fine. I’ve been given morphine. Well, that explains a lot. Mom and my sister return with pictures of Matilda on the camera. They can’t bring me Matilda; she’s going through her evaluation. I see pictures of her on the tiny camera screen. I don’t recognize her. She looks pink and angry. I give back the camera. I’m just going to have to wait. The orderlies come in to take me to a recovery room. They’re getting pretty sick of me in this department.

9:00am
I am comfortably set up in my new room. Ian unfolds his little cot and immediately collapsed into sleep. Pop has returned to our house to sleep. Mom sits at my side. They have all seen Matilda. Everybody has but me; I still haven’t seen her. Her temperature is low and they want to keep her under the warmer for a while. They tell me they will bring her to see me at around 10:30. I’ll have to wait. Mom and I fill out the birth certificate form while we wait for the nurses to bring me my daughter.

10:45am
The door opens. A nurse walks in, wheeling a plastic bin in front of her. In the bin is Matilda. She is bundled up tight, and the nurse puts her in my arms. I look at her, and she looks back. “Hi there,” I say.

Epilogue
I later learned of all the little things that went wrong that combined to create a horrific birthing experience for me. The first is that the day I checked in was only Nurse Stephanie’s third day working on her own. She had only just completed her training and had not yet developed a good sense of how far dilated a patient is. (I’m not mad at her, though—she was SO sweet and even came to visit Matilda and me after she got off shift.) The second is that Dr. Shithead could have given me more medicine, or put me under sooner, if he chose. It is essentially a judgment call on the anesthesiologist’s part, and apparently Dr. Shithead did not think it urgent enough to put me under sooner. Apparently I just should have sucked it up. (I am mad at him!) The third is that Matilda got stuck in the womb, and my OB needed to use a vacuum to get her out. The vacuum in our OR, though, was broken, and they had to send out a nurse to find one that worked. Thus, the “two minutes” that Dr. Shithead promised me turned out to be more like ten.

You’ll be happy to know that The Fates granted me an easy recovery in exchange for my miserable birth experience. I spent three happy and comfortable days in a private room surrounded by friends and family and eating copious amounts of food.

Summer's Almost Gone

2007-09-04T13:47:00.001-07:00

Summer comes slowly to Reno, but leaves quickly. Sometime after Labor Day, it packs its bags and takes off for the Southern Hemisphere. No long, drawn-out goodbyes, no tears--one day it is unbearably hot, and the next day the heat breaks like a fever and it is Fall.

In Reno we say goodbye to Summer by eating copious amounts of pig flesh.

You may remember that this time last year I was 9 months pregnant and packing away two racks of ribs in the all-you-can-eat VIP Rib Village. This year, alas, we couldn't afford to be VIPs and had to stand in line at the rib booths with the rest of the commoners. Above you see me gnawing on an ear of fresh roasted corn because I find fresh roasted corn with butter and seasoned salt to be one of life's greatest pleasures. Ian mocks me for this, saying that corn is "filler" and that I am wasting good rib space. I still ate more ribs than he did--SUCKA!

Matilda doesn't yet have enough teeth to enjoy corn-on-the-cob, but she does love her some ribs, and she got to enjoy the Rib Cook Off being wheeled from booth to booth gumming various bones from the different competitors--ah to be a baby!

***

I went to Starbucks on Saturday morning and scared the barrista with my burst of enthusiasm at seeing that the Pumpkin Spice Latte was back on the menu. You think they'd be used to crazy women shouting "Omigod! PUMPKIN!" But apparently I'm the only one. (You should see me on the day they bring back Gingerbread Latte!) Then I paused, let it sink in, and then started chiding the poor barrista: "Wait a minute...it isn't fall yet! It's only Labor Day!" She looked at me, confused, and kind of shrugged. I declined the Pumpkin Spice Latte, informing her that things just taste better when you wait for the appropriate time. Like how I won't drink eggnog before Thanksgiving no matter how much I love it. I love Pumpkin Spice Lattes, but not until Fall, and Starbucks should wait at least until the Equinox.

Then I opened the door this morning and what should I feel but that cool, brisk gust of air that signals the arrival of Fall. I felt sad and started missing summer immediately. This afternoon I noticed that the tree in our yard was already sporting a few red leaves. Goodbye, Summer! Time for me to go get my Pumpkin Spice Latte.

The last picture of Summer

BEWARE...So Cute Your Eyes May Explode!

2007-08-10T08:59:00.001-07:00

Oh fun! Bubbles!

Almost...got...one...

Gah! Not the face!

Bubbles, I am not amused.

And the winning shots are...

Black Day

2007-08-08T16:40:00.000-07:00

*Cheating piece of shit.

My Time With Harry

2007-07-22T20:49:00.000-07:00

"I think you'd really like this book, Ms. Sangster..."

It was 1998, and I was working at a private elementary school as a teaching assistant. One of my favorite students was a charming little third grader, Allie, whose family had recently relocated to the States from Britain for her father's job. I adored her--of course I did; I'm a raging anglophile--but it wasn't just her citizenship that drew us together; it was also our shared love for reading. One day, she gave a book report on a little novel she had been sent from relatives in England entitled Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. She spoke of it with such enthusiasm that most of the kids in the class were anxious to read it, but Allie informed us that no, we couldn't all borrow her copy; however, we were in luck, the book had just been released in the U.S.

As a grad student, I was always happy for reading that was, shall we say, less challenging than my school reading (or "brain candy," as we scholars say), so I took Allie's recommendation and went to the bookstore to pick it up. I had a heck of a time finding it, though, because there was no such book as Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. One salesperson suggested that perhaps I was referring to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone? They didn't have it in stock, but would I like to order one?

I didn't actually get around to reading the book for a while...but after a couple of months, I heard kids around the school talking about this boy wizard named Harry who had to live under the stairs. I heard teachers at lunch discuss how surprised they were at how much they enjoyed the book. Copies of the book were getting traded around, and the school librarian was working on getting several in. Hmmm...I thought. Maybe I better read this book.

And that is how it began...my time with Harry.

I must admit that the first book didn't rock my world or anything. I thought it was a sweet story but not terribly complex. It was certainly no Hobbit, a comparison I had heard a couple of times. I had no idea that it would just keep getting better and better and better until I was an addicted Potter junkie, hanging outside bookstores at God-awful hours to purchase each book the minute it was released, waiting until my dealers, Barnes and Noble, provided me with my next hit.

The next summer I was hired to teach a summer reading workshop for fifth- and sixth-graders. I was allowed to pick any book I wanted, and when I put Harry Potter down on the book order form, my supervisor eyed it suspiciously. "I've never heard of this book." Neither, it seemed had the educational world. There were no teacher's guides for Harry Potter, so I had to make up my own quizzes, pick out my own vocabulary words from each chapter, and write all of the discussion and essay questions. (Why did I not try to get all this published? Well--hindsight being 20/20 and all...)

The book was a big hit with the kids (duh.), and while we were reading it, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was released. The next day, all six of my students showed up with the sequel. Apparently, we were going to read the second one as well.

And this is why I loved Harry...he got kids reading. There were no whines of, "This book is too long!" or, "Why do we have to read this?!" Kids just read. And read and read. It also made me kind of sad, though...I mean, there are so many good books out there, but many kids acted as though they were making an exception for Harry Potter. Kind of like: reading still sucks, but we will read Harry Potter. Well, at least Harry was better than some of the other crap that kids-who-don't-like-to-read read. Captain Underpants was dead. Long live Harry Potter!

It wasn't until Prisoner of Azkaban that our relationship went to the next level. It wasn't just about the kids anymore. Me and Harry--we had a thang goin' on. By then, there was talk of a movie. I didn't know how to feel about this--on the one hand I was excited to see these beloved characters come to life on the screen, but on the other, I was afraid that the kids would stop reading. Would I start hearing, "But why do we have to read this book...there's a movie!" What I should have realized was that the books would always come out before the movies, and patience is not a virtue that I, nor most children, have. We all just kept on reading.

I remember the day that Goblet of Fire came out...I had the day off, and I was at the bookstore bright and early, where a tired looking salesperson handed me a copy off of a giant pallet behind the cash register. I couldn't even make it home. I went next door to the coffee shop and tore through the first several chapters over a latte and bagel. I saw someone I knew there, and they tried to strike up a friendly conversation. It was all I could do not to shout at them, "Can't you see I'm READING for the LOVE OF GOD!!" This was the first time I tried to make the book last...tried to stop myself from downing the whole book in one gulp. It was a useless effort. The book called to me from the closet where I had hidden it, and I finished it that night.

The Order of the Phoenix came out the day I was out of town for a bridal shower. I figured I would have to hold off until Monday to buy the book, but Saturday morning my best friend handed me the copy she had ordered to be delivered for me. "I knew you wouldn't be able to focus without it," she said. She is a very good friend. Foolish, perhaps, because they had to tear the book out of my hands to get me to start preparing for the shower. I should probably also mention that this shower was my own.

I attended my first bookstore release party for The Half-Blood Prince. It was pretty cool, what with all the costumes and stuff, but really, I was only there for the book. I had it read by the following morning and then had to keep my damn mouth shut for days until my friends caught up, even though I wanted to scream at them, "Dumbledore is DEAD! NOOOOOoooooooo!" But even more horrible than Dumbledore's death was the fact that Snape killed him. Because I love Snape. He is my favorite Harry Potter character. And I never believed he was truly evil. But how could this be when he had killed Dumbledore? I immediately started analyzing the situation (because, you know, that's why I have an advanced degree in literature...), trying to work out every scenario where Snape was redeemable. Because he had to be HAD TO BE good; otherwise, my love of the Harry Potter universe would crumble and fade.

And how the hell was I expected to wait two years to find out?

******************************************************

SPOILERS BEGIN HERE

I'll leave you some space.

Go ahead, stop now if you are still reading the book...I'll wait.

Here is a funny picture of my baby sleeping....

Dum, dee-dum.....

OKAY, here I go!

********************************************

Friday night we went to the Grand Hallows ball at Borders. I'd like to say I dressed in a cool costume, or that I took part in the Harry Potter spelling bee, but no, once again I was only there because I was desperate to get my hands on the next book, and I didn't trust the post office to deliver it to me at the crack of dawn on Saturday. Because if I had to wait for the postman...well, things might have gotten ugly. At the "ball" there was also a debate about whether Snape was loyal or not...I started to sit in on that, but then I realized that my powers of rhetoric were probably too magnificent for a group of children and tweens, and I didn't want to make anybody cry, so Matilda and I showed our support for Snape through the use of visuals...

I was really nervous about this because if Snape turned out to be evil, well...the book might have ended up in the fireplace just like when I was 13 and Little Women ended up ablaze when Jo turned down Laurie and Laurie ended up marrying that stupid bitch Amy and I just couldn't handle it, couldn't stand to look at the book anymore, and threw it into the fireplace in a fit of rage. Not that I advocate the burning of books--it's just that, well, I get angry sometimes, OKAY?!

And I love Severus Snape. I loved him before the first movie came out, and then they went and cast Alan Rickman in the part and I was officially smitten...I also love Alan Rickman. That deep voice, those intense eyes...(shudder). They can try and ug him up all they want...that man is still a sexy beast!

From book one I knew, deep in my heart, that Snape was just misunderstood. Sure he treated Harry like crap, but c'mon! does everyone have to adore Harry? And then when we find out that Snape was tormented by that mean bully James Potter, I wanted to bundle Snape up into my arms and tell him, "It's okay...you'll end up a powerful wizard and a teacher someday, and that ass-hat will end up DEAD!"

Ian asked me recently if I would do Snape, and my immediate response was "Hell, yes, I would!" I would sneak down to his dungeon and clear everything off his desk with a sweep of my arm and crawl up and ask him for the "special" potion. Rrowr! But sadly, he wouldn't have me because he was so in love with Lily Potter that he could never love another woman.

I cried like a damn baby when we found out why Snape really was loyal, why he protected Harry even though he hated him, why he was such a sad and angry man. Twoo wove! He loved Lily since he was nine years old! It just tears at my heart! And his final words..."Look..at..me..." So that he could see Lily in Harry's eyes before he died. Okay, shit, I'm crying again.

I just want to give J.K. Rowling a big fat smooch for ending the series the way she did. It was so intensely satisfying...not just because I was RIGHT about Snape but because things seemed to work out just as they should have. Not too happy, not too sad. In the end, she proved that despite being wizards and witches, all of the characters were very much human, with their human flaws and their human hearts.

I'm sad now that my time with Harry has ended. There are a lot of people saying the same thing--what will we do with no Harry? I console myself, though, with the thought that in a few years, Matilda will be old enough for Harry, and I will get to start all over again with The Sorcerer's Stone...I will lie next to my daughter and open to the first page--"Chapter One..."

Thinking Blue

2007-07-15T21:11:00.001-07:00

Sweep, sweep, sweepity sweep! Thanks to my sister's incredibly thoughtful birthday present, I got to see the Dodgers play the Giants on Friday night. Hmmm...not sure if "play" is the verb I'm looking for here...maybe "OBLITERATE" is more appropriate?

I was a bit nervous about visiting AT&T Park for the first time; it is, after all, ENEMY TERRITORY, but we live closer to San Francisco than Los Angeles, so bravely we marched into the den of evil to cheer on our team. In the spirit of good sportswomanship, let me point out the positives...

The Park is really beautiful and very clean...

and has amazing views...

and really excellent food. I was particularly fond of the Gilroy Garlic Fries...

So it's really too bad that THE TEAM SUCKS! (Okay, good sportswomanship over.)

I had SUCH a good time and even managed to adopt a zen-like attitude towards the many nasty comments being flung our way throughout the park. Of course, it's easy to be zen-like when your team is winning. There were many other True Blue fans there that night, which made things a bit easier--power in numbers and all that--and, as the game went on and the Giants fans started skulking out, we got a little braver, a bit more bold--that is to say, a wee bit LOUDER. Which is probably why the nice Dodgers fans below us were getting peanuts thrown at them, and why what I initially thought to be the random patters of rain turned out to be spit.

Oh you nasty Giants fans...no amount of your bitter saliva can wash out the sweet smell of victory!

Here is what victory looks like from the nosebleed section:

I didn't bring Matilda with me. Although it is important to nurture her love for baseball, and I CANNOT WAIT to take her to her first game, I want that game to be in the hallowed hollows of Dodger Stadium, where she can yell "CHARGE!" and "Let's go Dodgers" and sing "We will rock you," none of which you get to do when your team is the visiting one. It made me sad to see all of those tiny little Giants fans, their innocent minds being warped, their tiny little bodies sporting number twenty-five because their parents aren't responsible enough to tell them that CHEATING IS WRONG. I will bring my daughter up in the light of goodness; I will teach her to Think Blue.

Because some things are, y'know, IMPORTANT.

POST 100

2007-07-12T10:58:00.000-07:00

This is my one-hundreth post. Hmmm...

I feel like I should have some super-amazing post to mark the occasion, but it's too damned hot for me to be that creative. So. Hot. I've been lying on my couch under a ceiling fan, with another rotary fan blowing in whatever ounce of cool breeze happens to pass by the front door, and a portable swamp cooler chugging away, filling the room more with humidity instead of cold air. And the computer, it just emits too much heat. Okay, well, maybe not, but it's certainly not making me any cooler.

So how about some random bullets?

We saw Harry Potter late last night. I loved it; Ian complained the whole way home about all the things that were changed from the book. He and I have this argument all the time. No matter how much I love a book, I realize that elements that work in one genre may not work in another, and therefore adaptations require changes in order for the story to work. He is a purist who doesn't want any detail of the book tampered with, even if that means that a movie would end up being sixteen hours long.
M. is still not crawling. She is SO close! She'll sit in "go" position rocking back and forth as though she's trying to work up the momentum to propel forward, and then she just quits, sits back on her bottom, and hollers. I think she's trying to fly instead of crawl. What a disappointment life must be sometimes.
I ran my first ever D&D campaign Sunday. (For you non-dorks out there, that means that I was the "Dun-geon Mas-ter".) Ian was really tired of DMing and wanted to play, so I gave it a shot using a very easy first-level module, and I think I did pretty well! Hey! I have managed to succeed at something this year...I'm not just a SAHM, I'm a BIG DORK DM SAHM! I'm adding initials to my title all the time.
It's hot.
I'm going to see the Dodgers play the Giants on Friday in San Francisco--a late birthday present from my sister. I hope I don't get my ass kicked by some rabid Giants fan, but anything's possible. Especially if that cheating asshole Barry Bonds manages to hit homerun Number 755 during that game in which case I might have to boo. Loudly. It's a dangerous time for a Dodger's fan in Giant's territory. I could go on about how that junkie doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as Hank Aaron, but I realize that this argument, like so many others these days, is pointless because everyone has already made up their mind and not much is going to change it. Let me just say that if you think Barry Bonds deserves this record, you're WRONG!

Okay, that's it. I'm going to go stick my head in the freezer, now. Hope things are cooler wherever you are!

Independence Day

2007-07-06T19:12:00.000-07:00

Though we've lived in Reno for nearly six years now, we had never bothered to attend the fabulous Fourth of July fireworks at Lake Tahoe. So this year, I insisted that we make the trip, even though it meant that I would have to be seen in a bathing suit for the first time since I was pregnant. Horrors! But I did it, and I even managed to strike a pose when my mother called out for a snapshot. And here I am, for all the blogosphere to see...

That's me in the one-piece...I don't think I'll ever be comfortable enough to expose my stretch marks to the world.

Tah-dah! I was so happy to be relaxing on the beach for the whole day that I managed to strike my own blow for independence...independence from my body anxiety. (At least for the day.)

Micaela and I got up at 4:30--AM that is--to be at the beach by six so that we would be assured a good spot when the beach opened at eight. Even at 6:00 we were sixth in line to be let in. After about half an hour, there were twenty or so cars waiting, and people were getting out of the cars behind us and sneaking out to the beach before it opened to claim prime spots. Because, you know, they're special and shouldn't have to wait in line behind the people that got there earlier. Sometimes I just hate people. Like this time at the Cake concert when several people shoved in front of us because "We're really big fans." Or the guys during the fireworks display who refused to sit down--even though they were blocking the view of dozens of people and even though their own girlfriends were tugging on their arms trying to get them to sit. (I don't know about you, but wouldn't that be a deal-breaker?) When people started calling out for them to sit down, one of them shouted out, "I can stand taller if you want!" I mean, WHY? Why do people have to be like that? Why do people think that on a beach or concert full of thousands of people, they should receive special treatment?

After the assholes refused to sit down, I think I might have commented--possibly in a loud voice--that I hoped their dicks shriveled up and fell off, and hopefully soon, before they were allowed to breed.

That wasn't right, either, but I do have a temper.

But the fireworks were spectacular--well worth the wait and the crowds and the assholes. I didn't know they made fireworks quite that big...I suspect that Gandalf was on a barge on the lake, orchestrating the whole thing. I tried to take pictures, but they were all puny in comparison, and many of them were tainted with asshole head.

Oh, and here is a free parenting tip for the day. If going to the beach with a young'un, invest in a good raft. It can serve as a raft, a kiddie pool, and, later in the evening, a bed.

This...Is...So...AWESOME!

2007-06-30T02:53:00.000-07:00

This could quite possibly be the greatest thing the internet has ever produced...

I...am a SIMPSON!

And because I wanna be gettin' some during my time in Springfield...

Himself.

Thank you, Whit, for pointing me to this fantastic website. My life is complete.

What the...?!

2007-06-28T13:55:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting here at my desk, typing away at today's blog entry, when suddenly it strikes me...a sudden silence. M., who was seated not 5 feet behind me at her toy baskets, is not banging something against something else, or squealing, or shaking something noisy. I whip my head around and find this:
Holy crap! She's like a tiny, backward-crawling ninja! Clearly, I'm going to have to become more diligent. Because that worthless dog in the foreground, who should have been barking at me, "Mom! The puppy's getting away! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" is lying there as if he didn't realize that there are cords and little pieces and open outlets all over the house where M. is backward crawling. Now I'm going to have to babyproof and shit. Dumb dog.

Yet Another Gender Post

2007-06-27T10:16:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of getting myself writing again, I figured that whipping myself into a frenzy would be the best motivation, so here is yet another rant on gender issues:

First of all, it should be known that I am a scrapbooker. I loves me the scrapbooking. But one thing that I do not like about my hobby is its gender politics. For some reason, scrapbooking is considered "women's work"--that keeping the family history is the job of the woman-folk. That, however, does not keep me from doing it, nor is it the main theme of this post. It does mean, though, that I read a lot of scrapbooking magazines and that while reading such magazines I see a lot of layouts that glorify the "proper" gender identity of children. I am not going to post images of such pages here, though, because it is against the scrapbooking code to snark on other people's pages--let's just say that there are a lot of pages and products out there that announce "100% GIRL" or "All Boy" or "Girlie Girl." These titles are inevitably accompanied by photos of young boys and girls performing activities appropriate to their stereotypical gender roles: girls having tea parties in princess outfits or boys pushing toy trucks through mud...you get the idea.

This really pushes my buttons.

Especially the ones that read "100% girl" or "100% boy." What does this mean? Thank goodness my child is not a hermaphrodite? I'm so glad that Sally never grew a testicle--she's 100% GIRL! No breasts on little Billy--he's 100% BOY! And I know what these pages are supposed to mean, but really, the underlying implication is, I'm so glad my kid isn't queer.

Just once I'd like to see a page that says "Girlie Boy" or "Not-All Girl" or maybe even "75% Girl, 25% ?" I guess what I'm pointing out is that if Hillary Clinton represents one aspect of our society's deeply-rooted sexism, then parental expectations represent another. Most people want their children to follow strictly maintained gender roles, and when they do, it's a cause for celebration. When they don't, it's a cause for silence. Sons should never want to cruise the "pink aisle" at Target, and daughters should not enjoy the, er, "black aisle?" (I'm not sure what to call the aisle dedicated to Legos, Hot Wheels, and action figures--the "Action Aisle?")

And I know that there are those of you out there (Mom) who will say, "What's the big deal? A kid's gonna like what a kid's gonna like...you can't control that." But my point is this: by setting up these standards of what constitutes "All Boy" or "100% Girl," we also set up a framework for deviancy. A boy who wants a pink fairy Barbie is deviant, as is a girl who'd rather have a Millenium Falcon Lego set (Mmmmm...Millenium Falcon Lego set...drool!) We don't tell the children they are deviant, but we show them they are by celebrating those children who are not. So kids are not just "liking what they are going to like"; they are struggling with what they should like.

Of course, I'm the big hypocrite here because if M. decided to like Barbies, I would say, "Too bad...no Barbies in my house." So I guess I am encouraging her to reject her stereotypical gender role as much as another mother might be encouraging her daughter to accept it. I feel I have to do this, though, not only as a mother, but as a woman. Because it's only a short step from this "Girlie Girl"...

To this one...

click on picture for larger view

Matilda-Mania

2007-06-23T23:17:00.001-07:00

I've been a lazy writer lately, so please accept more adorable pictures of M. in place of my ramblings. She is changing so fast that I need to take lots of pictures to remember what she was like the day before.

Where did she get all that hair? She's already got enough for ponytails!

A present from Aunt Megan...M.'s first mouse ears from Disneyland.

M. is working on crawling, but she currently can only push herself backwards, which means she usually ends up under the furniture.

Hanging out with Auntie Crystal and Lucy--M.'s swimming buddy.

At the movie theater--M. loved Homer! She laughed and laughed!
(Click on picture to get a better view of the laughing.)

Matilda in the LBC

2007-06-10T21:22:00.000-07:00

Mama and I are currently in Long Beach visiting Auntie Erin and Uncle Brian so that Mama can be their professional organizer. I am so excited about this because it means I get to spend lots of time with my friend Claire. Mama has been very busy, so she asked me to post some pictures for everyone to see.

I was very good for my second airplane ride. Mama let me sit in my own seat and I even got this bag of peanuts! Mama told me that I wasn't old enough to eat peanuts, but I sure liked the shiny bag!

On Wednesay, Auntie Erin took us to meet friends of hers at the park. I was too little to play with all the other kids, but I liked swinging on the swings and riding this froggie.

On Friday we went to Claire's playgroup and I had fun playing with other babies. I had never been around so many babies before! I didn't mind, though...I was very interested in meeting them all.

On Saturday we went to a restaurant called Lucille's. They have food called barbeque. I know that this is Mama and Daddy's favorite food, so I thought I'd try some. Auntie Erin gave me something called a rib, and I LOVED it! I also ate macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes, and biscuits. Yum! Mama says that this is one of her very favorite restaurants...I think so, too!

I liked to chew and suck on my rib...

Claire uses hers to eat her sweet potatoes.

After eating BBQ we were so messy that we had to take a bath. I like splashing Claire and chewing on her rubber duckies. Claire likes combing my hair and splashing me back. We had lots of fun!

That's all! I am having a very good time. Mama says that she will be back to blog in a few days.

Love,
Matilda

Another Good Reason to Walk...

2007-06-01T18:16:00.000-07:00

...Lots more chances for good photographs.

I'm not usually a big fan of pink...but these were awfully pretty.

Moving On Up

2007-05-29T09:07:00.001-07:00

Yes, I am still alive. I have not been able to post on my own blog or read anyone else's for three weeks now. Because we moved! Yay!!! Moving Day was May 16, but we have been very busy ever since painting and unpacking and organizing and all of that crap that is part of the deal when you move. Plus I didn't have internet for a week...GAH!

Anyways, our new house is SO GREAT! It is in the old part of town--my favorite--in an old brick duplex that is historically protected by the City of Reno. And for an old house, it is BIG! 1100 sq ft and a basement! The inside has some aesthetic challenges, like a previous resident who liked wallpaper A LOT and a kitchen that was remodeled in the '70s, but what can you do? I am willing to overlook all of this for one simple pleasure...I am centrally located and can WALK downtown! No more nasty suburbs for me! I cannot tell you how much this has done to improve my mood. The last year has taught me that I am NOT a suburbs person, even with the perks of new houses with all of their new house smell and their new house wiring and their new house insulation. I like being in the middle of things, and, most of all, I like walking. "Commute" is a word that I would like to eradicate from my vocabulary altogether. From where we now live I can walk to the movies, walk to five different coffee houses, walk to the river, walk, walk, walk. And when I do have to drive, no more than a couple of miles will get me pretty much anywhere I want to go. I LOVE IT!

View of our new house, left side. Note that even though it is a duplex, the houses are only joined by the garages.

View of our new house, right side...Did I mention it was a corner lot?

Our neighbor across one street--God.

And across the other street--God.

"Cheap, Cheap!"

2007-05-29T09:06:00.003-07:00

How do you know when you're really, really cheap? Not just frugal but C-H-E-A-P? It's when you get as excited as I do about the holiday weekends because it means 50% off day at the thrift stores. Because it's not cheap enough to shop at thrift stores, you have to wait for a thrift store SALE!

So on Memorial Day I hit Savers and went crazy buying myself a whole new summer wardrobe! I literally filled an entire shopping cart up with clothes. And I spent $63. Beat that.

The reason that this is important is because it is the second step in my making-myself-feel-better-about-myself regimen. The first step was moving into a new house (see next post). The second step is giving up the battle and buying myself real, non-maternity clothes that actually fit instead of holding out in my maternity jeans for that magic day when I will be able to fit back into my pre-pregnancy jeans. It's been 8 and a half months, and I'm done. I'm not giving up completely--I have packed my old clothes in a box for that time when my body finally decides to start working properly again--but boy does it feel good to have a waistband again. And even if I shudder every time I think about the size I am wearing, it doesn't make me shudder nearly as much as wearing pregnant lady clothes. There's just something so sad about that. And I'm tired of being sad. I'd rather be fat and happy.

Not-So-Happy Birthday

2007-05-29T09:06:00.001-07:00

Thirty. Four.

I really wasn't in the mood to celebrate this year. The months leading up to my birthday have been among the worst of my life...my self-esteem has not been so low since I was a teenager. Celebrating 34 just didn't appeal to me because celebrating 34 meant acknowledging that I was turning 34 as an unemployed woman with very little purpose in life whose goals have been shattered after sending out over 20 job applications and not receiving one single call for an interview. Add onto that the 15 years I have spent becoming educated to do the job I am trained to do and the oppressive mountain of student loans I have accumulated to get that education and you can see where I might become a bit depressed. Not to mention the fact that even if I did get an interview I'd have nothing to wear because my wardrobe consists of three pairs of maternity pants and a handful crappy oversized shirts I keep wearing over and over again because I can't manage to lose a single stinking pound!

Yeah, so.

But, strangely enough, my birthday came anyways. Funny how that happens. And I ended up celebrating after all because in the end, it is MY SPECIAL DAY, and I just had to bask in it, failure or not.

May 18

My dad is in town, so we go out for an early birthday dinner with him at ZoZo's Italian restaurant.

Husband seems to be just as excited as I am about my birthday!

M. chooses an entree.

May 21 (actual birthday)

I go shopping at Target and use some of my birthday money to buy a dress to wear so that I don't feel like such a scuz wearing maternity pants to dinner on my birthday.

Crystal comes over and we walk downtown for coffee and antique shopping.

"I have feet!"

I don my new dress and gather my posse for dinner.

No, Ian is not feeling me up. The one day of the year I wear a dress, and Reno whips up a giant windstorm to blow my dress up over my head. Ian is only trying to keep me from flashing my goods to the camera.

"Mama's HOW OLD?!"

May 27

Micaela takes me out for my final birthday present--tickets to see Cake. Great show. The pictures are all on Micaela's camera, so you'll just have to imagine me rocking out.

Last year at this time, I was very optimistic about being 33. I thought it would be one of my best years. I was wrong. I hate to say that, given that this year brought the birth of my daughter, but it is true. Last year I said that things would get better once Ian and I were out of the "heinous transitional period" that we were going through. And we are still going through it. I just don't understand how it is possible for a highly educated, hard-working couple not to be able to find decent employment. I don't understand why achieving one goal (having a baby) means that we have to sacrifice every other goal we have. I imagine that there is some old gypsy woman somewhere poking pins into dolls that look an awful lot like us.

But it is a new birthday, a new age, another year for things to improve...so here's to trying to be optimistic. Things will look up this year. They will. Really.

My Pukey Mother's Day Weekend

2007-05-29T08:40:00.000-07:00

My first Mother's Day came very close to being a miserable one. The Friday before, I came down with the nastiest bug I have ever come across...let's call it the Puke Once and Come Very Close to Death in Two Days Bug. First it ravaged the household of our friends, then it made its way into the House of Sangstellero.

Friday, Ian and I dropped M. off with friends and went out for a bite to eat before going to see 28 Weeks Later. (For those of you who understand our affinity for zombie flicks, you will know that this was a BIG DEAL.) As soon as we sat down to eat, I realized I wasn't feeling very well. I figured it was just because I hadn't eaten much all day, and filling up my belly would make me feel better. (Wrong.) By the time we got to the movie theater, I was feeling really bad, but I toughed it out and played some Ms. Pacman with Ian because even when death is knocking on my door, I cannot pass up the opportunity to prove to my husband that I am the queen of Ms. Pacman and he should bow before me. We eventually took our seats, and I suffered through the previews. At the very moment the last preview was playing, I realized without a doubt that my dinner was not going to stay down. I leaped out of my seat and ran to the restroom, but I knew, just knew, as soon as I opened the door, that I wasn't going to make it. And I didn't. As soon as I opened the door to the stall, I erupted. I know that The Exorcist analogy is a common one, but I am going to fall back on it because nothing else can properly describe how badly I violated that bathroom stall. Over and over. Thank God nobody else was in the restroom. Did I mention that I had enchilada soup for dinner? Bright red enchilada soup. When I was done, it looked like someone had hosed the stall down in blood. So there I stood, absolutely mortified, inspecting the carnage I had just wreaked and wondering what in the hell to do about it:

Ignore the mess and run away. Quickly.
Go find an employee to report the horrible mess that SOME OTHER very rude person had left in the bathroom.
Take responsibility for my own puke, and find someone to help me.

What would Jesus do?

What would you do?

Needless to say, we did not see the movie. I went home and crawled into bed where I stayed for the next 36 hours, miserably sick.

Saturday, in the middle of my twelfth popsicle, we got a call telling us that the house we had applied for on Thursday, the house we really, really liked, was ours to rent immediately. I was SO happy, though in my weakened state, I couldn't imagine how I was possibly going to drag my ass out of bed and start packing.

The nice thing, though, about the Puke Once and Come Very Close to Death in Two Days bug is that it burns itself out fairly quickly. By Sunday morning I felt a lot better, although fragile. Ian said he would make me anything I wanted for my Mother's Day breakfast. I wanted doughnuts, but I thought better of eating loads of sugar and fat for breakfast in my fragile state. Ditto for eggs benedict, biscuits and gravy, and all of my other favorite breakfast fare. Finally I gave up, ate a bowl of cereal, and told Ian to take me out for Mother's Day lunch.

Italian food sounded safe, so we headed to some new crappy Italian chain restaurant in town whose name I cannot even remember.

"I want everything on the menu, Mama!"

"Uh, Daddy? I think you got this upside down."

"That's better"

After lunch, we headed to Lowe's to pick up a giant drum of eggshell paint because the living room of our new house was mauve, and I don't do mauve.

How we spent the majority of Mother's Day.

So my first Mother's Day was spent feeling semi-pukey and doing new-house chores. And I loved it.

I Prefer "Progressive," but Whatever

2007-05-09T10:05:00.000-07:00

I try not to poach links from other bloggers...it somehow smacks of plagiarism. But this video is just TOO FREAKIN' GREAT not to post (especially considering yesterday's topic). So thanks Bitch, Ph.D. for starting my morning with a good laugh. I'm passing it on.

Billy Collins Makes Me Happy

2007-05-08T11:50:00.000-07:00

I went to find something on YouTube today and noticed that one of the featured videos was my favorite living poet reading one of my favorite poems. I thought I'd share.

Bumper Thumper

2007-05-07T08:28:00.000-07:00

A few months back, I kept meaning to write a post about the invasion of those annoying stick families that were popping up on SUVs and minivans across the nation. I mean, really, WHY is this necessary? "Oh look, honey, the couple in the Ford Explorer in front of us have two daughters, a son, and a baby. AND two cats and a dog! I guess that explains why they are driving that gas-guzzling monster van! I'm glad they made that clear to me. I feel so much closer to them now."

Whatever.

Anyways, this is NOT the post about how much I hate stick families. That post is no longer necessary because it appears that was the shortest-lived trend ever, and sometime last month everyone got out their scrapers en masse and removed the offending stickers. I haven't seen one for weeks.

What I have seen, though, is this

all over town. And I don't get it.

I will admit...I really, really want to love Clinton and see a woman get nominated by one of the major parties to be president. I would love even more to see a woman in the oval office. I feel compelled to vote for any female candidate simply on the basis of her gender, which is fallacious and biased, but I can't help it...I want a woman to be president THAT BAD.

But Clinton? I'm not a fan.

I don't hate her or anything; I'm just not prepared to vote for her. I have not been impressed by her speeches, by her performance in the Democratic Candidates Debate, or by her interviews. I don't like how she changes her persona from one appearance to the next--all sternness and ice at one; at another, gushing over shoes and giggling about shopping. It seems like she is juggling her masculine and feminine sides to appease her particular audience. It's not working. And it bothers me. But I certainly don't hate her. I wouldn't feel compelled to stick hateful stickers on my car or pay money to erect a BILLBOARD! (I'd include a picture here, but I thought that pulling over on the freeway to snap a photo of a billboard was a risk I wasn't prepared to take for my blog.) I mean, she's not even nominated yet! Why all this animosity? Why do so many people hate Clinton SO MUCH?

Is it because she's a woman?

I hope not, but here are some things I've noticed:

1) Why is it okay to call Clinton "Hillary" when male candidates get referred to by their last names?

2) This sticker is wrong on so many levels. Aggressive woman = bitch, but non-aggressive woman = bad president. A total catch 22.

3) Why do so many conservative pundits claim that Clinton is hanging onto the coat tails of her husband but also believe that it is perfectly acceptable for W. to hang onto the coat tails of his father?

4) Why is Clinton held to a higher moral standard than the men she is running against?

It all just bothers me so much. Just like when people hated Clinton when she was first lady because she, you know, had thoughts of her own and tried to do more than just stand by her man's side looking pretty (gasp!). Remember this?

Because Lord knows that any man married to a smart, competent woman must be CONTROLLED by her.

I guess my point is this. Just because we live in a country where we are allowed and encouraged to speak out against our government (unless, of course, the Bush Administration is involved...then we should just all keep our damn mouths SHUT) does not mean that it is alright to treat a woman in a blatantly sexist manner because she is a politician. I know that there are plenty of other reasons people may not like Clinton, but whenever I ask someone to tell, specifically, what they don't like about her, most cannot answer the question. There's "just something about her." Something like two X chromosomes.

I feel the need to speak out against this now, so that maybe voters will be a bit more enlightened when Matilda runs for president.

Now there's a candidate I can get behind!

whatwhat WHAT?!

2007-05-05T09:54:00.000-07:00

Just after I finished that last post, I thought I'd check my site meter and found out that WOW! I have a lot more hits than average this week! How could this be? After some tinkering, I then discovered that on Site Meter I can view how people are getting to my site (that is, who linked to me) and I discovered the culprit. (I know, my technological genius boggles the mind!) DUDE! I've been linked to! Thanks, Surrender Dorothy!

Some further examination of my Site Meter exposed another link...apparently, I have been hit by The Nominatrix for Hottest Mommy Blogger in the Blogger's Choice Awards. Thank you, Oh the Joys, for giving me my first blog bling...It looks so purty over there.

It's the little things that can really improve one's mood on a gloomy Saturday morning.

Pub Grub

2007-05-05T09:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I haven't been writing much this week, but I feel the need to post something, anything, so that my mad, sad, very bad post isn't still the first thing people see when they come visit. So here.In an effort to convince M. that deep-fried clam strips are not appropriate food for little babies with no teeth, we gave her her own plate to hold her puffs so that she could eat with Daddy. As you can see, she's still eyeballing the clam strips.

You may wonder why M. is in her pajamas...that would be because we already packed away all of her winter attire that she had mostly outgrown in favor of spring/summer wear because it's, you know, MAY?! and then it started snowing this week. Soft, fluffy jammies are the warmest thing M. has to wear. If it snows on my birthday, I'm leaving.

If this is Karma, I'd Sure Like to Know What I Did Wrong!

2007-04-30T15:04:00.000-07:00

So today I was planning on posting my thoughts on the Democratic Candidates Debate, and I was even composing it in my head while I drove home. Then I made the mistake of checking the mail on my way in the door.

Today I received not one, not two, but three rejection letters from community colleges that I had applied to.

Shit.

Now I have to just keep writing in order to prevent myself from burying my head under my pillow and bawling or eating everything in the pantry to fill the giant, gaping hole that I feel in my gut.

I am just so frustrated and so angry at myself and so depressed. I don't know what else to do with these fucking applications! My CV looks great. I have three glowing letters of recommendation from world-famous professors. I have a fantastic cover letter pointing out all of my exceptional qualifications and emphasizing my love of teaching. And still, not even one interview. Nada. Nobody wants to see my fabulous teaching portfolio; nobody cares about my amazing student evaluations; nobody wants to discuss my teaching philosophy.

I wish that I could just say "Screw them...their loss" and move on. Except that there is no school waiting in the wings to snatch me up, thanking their lucky stars that those other schools didn't want me. NOBODY wants me! Not even my own fucking school that I don't even want to teach at.

I could have maybe handled one rejection today, but three? That has used up all of my ability to cope for the week.

I just feel so powerless. Teaching is the one area in life where I feel fully confident about myself. I know I am a GREAT teacher. My students tell me that (well, except for the 10% of them who are never happy with the professor unless she says "Hey! Why don't we all just cut out this semester, and I'll give you all As? What say?"). My professors tell me that. My heart tells me that. But the job market? The job market tells me that I am a complete failure. That my chosen profession, the one that I have spent an obscene amount of time in school training to do, is out of my reach. That I cannot do the job I love to do and should instead accept my fate as a stay-at-home-mom because I will never, ever amount to anything else.

And I don't mean to snark on S.A.H.M.s here, but I, personally, do not have what it takes to be a S.A.H.M. I am so completely miserable not working that I can hardly function. I have put so much time and money into this teaching gig--it's what I want to do; it's what makes me happy--and I CAN'T DO IT!

Then I feel that the more desperate I become, the less chance I have of getting a job. It feels kind of like infertility that way. Desperation leads to failure, but how can you keep from being desperate when you are FAILING?!

And friends, please stop asking me how I am every time you see or talk to me. Unless you hear otherwise, nothing has changed. Believe me, if I got a job the world would know. You could not shut me up about how happy I was. I would call each and every one of you personally to let you know that I had SUCCEEDED. Being constantly asked, "So, how are you doing?" only forces me to think of the real answer to that question. It only forces me to come up with an appropriate lie. It only forces me to say "I'm OK" when really I am far from it. I know you mean well--I know it means you care, but I am definitely not okay and I won't be until something in my life manages to go as I had hoped it would.

Okay. Enough misery for now. I am sorry to rant on like this, but I needed to holler at someone, so I chose you.

Bad Mama

2007-04-27T08:38:00.000-07:00

This is what happens when you try to clap your hands to get your baby's attention while still holding the spoon full of food.

Doh!

As if Life Wasn't Crappy Enough Right Now...

2007-04-26T23:14:00.000-07:00

Damn you Giants...damn you to hell.

And I Mean it!

2007-04-26T09:13:00.000-07:00

There's been a lot of buzz in the blogosphere lately regarding Bratz dolls and the recent APA task force findings on the dangers of sexualizing young girls (because apparently it's not dangerous until a task force says so). Rather than rehash the issue on this blog, I will point you here and here and here and here for a sampling of the responses. I just wanted to point out three things:

1) Regarding yesterday's post--I would rather M. cuss like a sailor than have her play with a Bratz or Barbie doll...how's that for priorities?

2) Please go to this site to sign a petition to tell Scholastic to keep Bratz books out of schools and to see what other actions can be taken to protect kids from the influence of marketers.

3) I believe that one of the main reasons parents succumb to the pressures of allowing their girls to have these toys is because they are received as gifts. As a society, we are trained that it is very rude to reject a gift, and therefore, if Great-Aunt Madge buys a Barbie, then it gets allowed into the house, lest we upset a poor old woman who didn't know any better. I believe that parents need to have the courage to voice their concerns about Barbies and Bratz and Disney Princess and any other self-esteem destroying "toys" that are out there, and to make it clear that those sorts of toys are not allowed. Look, I will start:

Dear Friends and Family:

I know that M. is not yet old enough to play with dolls, but when she is, I will not allow a Barbie or a Bratz doll into my home. [I reserve the right to also ban any other toy I deem inappropriate that I may not yet be familiar with or that may be released in the future.] If you buy her one of these dolls, or any of the subsequent merchandising related to these dolls, I will throw it into the trash. I will not do this out of anger towards you, and I do not want to offend you--I will do this to protect my daughter, her self-esteem, and her perception of womanhood. I ask that you support me in this even if you do not agree.

With love and thanks,
Tracy

Little Cuss

2007-04-25T08:20:00.000-07:00

The other day, when Ian and I were on our way into the movie theater, I saw something that disturbed me. A girl, maybe 14 years old, was walking with her friend and got into some sort of cussing match with a couple of teenage boys who were loitering in front of the theater. As far as I could tell, the only reason for this exchange was to swear, loudly, for the benefit of all within earshot. Eventually, the boy yelled after the girl "You're CRAZY!" (So original) to which she replied, while walking away, "Well, you can suck my dick and see how crazy I am then!"

(Let's just not go into the anatomical problems with that statement here.)

The point is, where did this girl learn it was acceptable to talk like that? The obvious answer seemed to be her parents, which made me shrivel a little inside because I have to admit that M. is exposed to such language by her own foul-mouthed parents.

Yes, that would be us. Because we both swear. A lot.

And I don't want to think of M. walking around some day shouting at pimply-faced boys to "Suck my dick." At the very least I would hope that she'd come up with a better comeback than that.

However, neither am I prepared to embrace censorship in order to guarantee that my daughter does not sound like she stepped, tiny and angelic, right off the set of Deadwood.

What a conundrum.

This won't be an issue for a long time, since the only thing she says now is "Bwah mwah lalala, thwwwppphhh!" (Which, for all I know, could mean "Get me my bottle, motherfucker!") and because cussing toddlers are funny. (If you don't believe me, watch this video:)

(Go ahead...I'll wait.)

Oh, haha! Whew! Cussing toddlers with beer...that's good stuff.

But my point. Yes. My point is that eventually the funny factor wears off, and cussing kids become just incredibly obnoxious. I don't want my daughter to be obnoxious. But how do I prevent this without advocating censorship?

Matilda's favorite music is Rage Against the Machine. Oh yes, since she was the womb. I know people don't believe me on this one, but it is true. That's right, Parental Advisory Warning Rage Against the Mother-Fucking Machine. I fear that someday I will be called into kindergarten to have this discussion:

Principal: So, we had some issues with Matilda today. It appears that she said to another child--wait, yes, here it is--"You can be fucking with other niggas' shit but you can't be fucking with mine."

Me: Oh dear.

Principal: Do you have any idea where she might have learned this language?

Me: ...

Principal: Ms. Sangster?

Me: Er, Rage Against the Machine?

Principal: Who?

Me: OKAY, well, I promise you that I will take care of this right away! I am SO sorry about this!

At which point I will have to explain to M. that what she should have said was, "I know you like to play with other kids toys, but PLEASE don't play with mine." Or I will have to teach her to share. Or something like that.

Parenting is hard.

You Say it's your Earth Day?

2007-04-23T11:16:00.000-07:00

I meant to post this over the weekend, but I got caught up in, you know, stuff. So here is my belated Earth Day post.

Dear Planet Earth:

Hey there! Well, another year together...I can't believe we made it! I just wanted to let you know that you are the best planet EVER! You are always there for me when I need you, and you make me happy when I'm down. Plus, you keep me alive each and every day. Thanks for that.

I know some of the other kids bully you and treat you like shit. I am SO sorry about that! All I can say is THEY SUCK! If only they understood what a cool planet you really are, then they wouldn't be such jerks. Someday they'll be old and miserable and they'll be all like "Why weren't we nicer to Earth? We really need her now!" But I know that you are the coolest planet EVER, and I will never forget that.

We've had some great times together, right? Remember that time in Yosemite? Man, you looked SO hot that day! And those times when you made SOOOO many flowers? Crazy. Oh, and all that oxygen you make every day? So I can breath? You are SO sweet to do that!

I can't wait to spend some time with you this summer...it will be WILD! I'll bring the beer if you bring the food!

Love ya!
Tracy

P.S. PE+TS=BFF

1) Yosemite NP, 1997
2) Great Basin NP, 2004
3) Kansas, 2004
4) Montana De Oro, 1992
5) Arches NP, 2004
6) Yosemite, 1993

Addendum to Number 14 Below

2007-04-21T23:39:00.000-07:00

Add Death Proof.

What a horrible, horrible movie. We left about 20 minutes early so that we could play a couple games of Ms. Pacman before they closed the arcade.

Shame on you, Quentin Tarantino.

Planet Terror, however, was brilliant. Zombies and BBQ and strong, sexy women to kill the zombies and eat the BBQ. I can't believe I didn't write this movie!

Thank you, Robert Rodriguez.

Silly Saturday

2007-04-21T13:44:00.001-07:00

Okay, I am giving in and doing a meme. Not that I was "tagged" by someone or anything--I'm not sure how one even gets "tagged." But I've seen this meme floating around the blogosphere, and I like it because I LOVE movies! Also, I've been so serious and sad the past week that I thought I needed to write something silly just to lighten up. As for tagging...since I'm not sure how this is done, I'll just say that if you see your name in the sidebar of this blog, consider yourself tagged. That means you have to do this quiz on your blog or you may catch the plague or be hit by lightning or something really bad like that.

So without further ado--my first meme.

1. Name a movie that you have seen more than 10 times.

Quite a few...when I love a movie I tend to watch it over and over an over... But to name three: The Color Purple, Star Wars, and A Room with a View.

2. Name a movie that you've seen multiple times in the theater.

Lord of the Rings (I saw each one at least 4 times in the theater), The Piano (5 times), Pride and Prejudice (4 times)

3. Name an actor that would make you more inclined to see a movie.

Ewan McGregor. I loves me the Ewan McGregor. Also, any "Dame" or "Sir"

4. Name an actor that would make you less likely to see a movie.

Kevin Costner (except in the case of Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, which I love despite him)

5. Name a movie that you can and do quote from.

A Room with a View, "Mother doesn't like me playing Beethoven. She says I'm always peevish afterwards."
The Color Purple, "I loves Harpo--God knows I do!..."
Pulp Fiction, "Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead."

6. Name a movie musical that you know all of the lyrics to all of the songs.

Mary Poppins (thanks, Megan)

7. Name a movie that you have been known to sing along with.

Um...Mary Poppins, and Oklahoma, 'cause I was in it in college.

8. Name a movie that you would recommend everyone see.

An Inconvenient Truth. When I saw it in the theater I was surrounded by crowds of geriatric liberals. Not really the audience that needs to see the movie methinks.

9. Name a movie that you own.

Impossible to answer this one without taking up several inches of blog space...we own LOTS of movies! I'll just say the movies most recently added to the collection were Matilda, East of Eden, and Pretty in Pink.

10. Name an actor that launched his/her entertainment career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops.

Mark Wahlberg.

11. Have you ever seen a movie in a drive-in? If so, what?

Yes. My mom used to take me to the drive-in when I was very little so that I could sleep in the backseat. One of my earliest memories is pretending that I was asleep while watching the movie playing behind us, which was The Shining. Even without sound that film traumatized me.

12. Ever made out in a movie?

Yes, I missed most of Mel Gibson's Hamlet the first time I saw it.

13. Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven't yet gotten around to.

Grindhouse, which we will be going to see in 4 hours (yay!)

14. Ever walked out of a movie?

My dad and I walked out on Johnny Dangerously and My Blue Heaven. Ian and I still regret not walking out on Van Helsing and demanding our money back.

15. Name a movie that made you cry in the theater.

I cry easily in movies (easier than I do in real life...go figure), but the two movies I have never been able to watch without crying are The Color Purple and Steel Magnolias.

16. Popcorn?

Only when I'm with my Dad. Then we share an extra large tub.

17. How often do you go to the movies (as opposed to renting them or watching them at home)?

About twice a month on average, more like 5 times a month during summer. Even with the baby, who has not curtailed our movie viewing at all. She very much enjoyed 300.

18. What’s the last movie you saw in the theater?

The Lookout--I give it a thumbs up

19. What’s your favorite/preferred genre of movie?

What Ian calls my "Kippers for Breakfast" movies...anything period and preferably British

20. What’s the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?

Hmmm...I've been going to movies for so long that it's hard to pinpoint. Probably something Disney, from way back before VCRs when you actually had to wait for a theatrical re-release to see a Disney movie. Or Star Wars.

21. What movie do you wish you had never seen?

Did I already mention Van Helsing? Also, Passion of the Christ, which grossed me out so badly I almost puked up my Hot Tamales.

22. What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed?

Um, an ambiguous question. Does this mean what movie have I seen that was the weirdest (anything by David Lynch) or what movie is it the weirdest that I actually enjoyed? (Bring it On)

23. What is the scariest movie you’ve seen?

Blair Witch Project. I know that most people are just annoyed by this movie, but I couldn't sleep well for two days.

24. What is the funniest movie you’ve seen?

I'm going to rephrase this into "What movies made you laugh the most when you first saw them?" The Full Monty, Meet the Parents, Shawn of the Dead, and Borat

And Now Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Nonsense

2007-04-18T08:12:00.000-07:00

Okey dokey...and now the post I originally had planned for today. Thinking back to my post about the mostly-naked smoker hater, I thought I would mention a positive ad campaign, one that does not objectify women but celebrates them in all their shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty is quite possibly the greatest ad campaign ever. I hope that they keep it up for the next 1o years so that I can Tivo them and play them for M. to counter the effects of any Bratz/Barbie/Disney Princess crap she may be exposed to. If you have not seen this already, here is an ad I think every girl should be required to watch:

Brilliant, no?

And the thing is, I think M. is beautiful. Ridiculously, wonderfully gorgeous. I tell her every day how pretty she is. What a perfect and lovely specimen of girl-child I created. But I worry about this. Because even if she does grow up to be the most stunning woman who ever lived, I do not want her thinking that this is what is important, that her looks are what make her special. While on the one hand I want her to have a strong self-esteem and not worry about her looks, maybe telling her how pretty she is is not the way to do this. I need to start saying, "You're so smart!" "You're so strong!" or "You're so funny!" (Granted, I do say these things, but they get a lot less air-time than "You're so pretty!")

Of course, the real answer to creating a strong sense of self-worth in my daughter is creating it in myself. Girls learn to be unhappy with themselves because their mothers teach them through example. And right now, I am not happy with myself. At all. I hate my scarred and disfigured stomach. I hate my body that never works like it is supposed to. I hate that I still can't fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes. I hate being unemployed. Basically, I value myself very little right now, and I need to fix this before I start rubbing off on M. The thing is, I'm not sure how to.

In an Effort to Focus on the Positive...

2007-04-17T14:41:00.000-07:00

It only took a few hours for some of my favorite bloggers to write beautiful and eloquent responses to the Virginia Tech tragedy...I knew I could count on them! Here Oh the Joys sadly ponders how she can explain human cruelty to her children. Here Sad and Beautiful World Chooses Life. Here KevinCharnas plants a garden. Those are just a sampling, and one common theme was reflecting on what we're grateful for. So in that spirit I present...

Things from the Past Few Days that Have Made Me Very Happy

Obviously

Micaela turning 30

Baking a cake from scratch for the first time and having it come out perfect (see above)

My sister getting engaged

All of the Dodgers wearing number 42 on Jackie Robinson Day at Dodger Stadium

And winning

Hitting the yard sales for the first time this year

And finding this high chair for $5

And putting it on the Mexican oilcloth splatmat I bought in Cambria.

And having two good dogs who clean the splatmat so I don't have to.

And always, always...

Ian.

And Yet Still Another Reason to Worry for my Daughter

2007-04-17T08:29:00.000-07:00

I opened up Bloglines this morning interested to see what all of the clever and intelligent bloggers I subscribe to had to say about the massacre at Virginia Tech only to find that most of them did not mention it at all. Hmm. Maybe they just haven't had time to put their thoughts into words. Maybe mommy bloggers don't want to think about a time when they have to send their babies to college where they could be shot. Maybe teacher bloggers don't want to think about the possibility of their students going on a murderous rampage. I'm not sure that I have any more coherent thoughts than that, but I do know that I can't just go on with the blog I had planned today in the wake of such a tragedy, so here goes--some random and jumbled thoughts about this horrible event:

I hate the media. Fucking vultures. I hate cell phones with video cameras. I do not want to hear the shots, the screams of terror. Nobody should be allowed to profit from such vile circumstances. I tried to watch the news last night to get a better grasp of what had happened, and I could only stomach it for 5 minutes before I turned it off. NBC aired a warning to parents--childcare experts advise parents to limit their children's viewing of the coverage of this event, lest it cause them too much trauma. Here's an idea, assholes...don't air footage that causes anybody too much trauma. Nobody needs to be bombarded with horrific images, ridiculous speculations, and interviews with the victims. Give us the facts, when you have them, and let the rest lie.
Now for the hypocrisy. Even though I can't handle the televised coverage, I have been reading news articles all morning. Here's one of those victim interviews I just admonished: in one of the classrooms, two young men had the presence of mind to barricade their classroom door with tables. While others were jumping out second story windows in a panic, these boys simply prevented the shooter from getting in at all. He gave the door a good shove, fired into it, and moved on. I mention this only because I truly hope that if something like this ever happened to me, I would manage to be that calm and wise. I mention this because as a teacher, I would hope that at the first sound of shots I would calmly put down my dry erase marker and instruct my students to start piling their desks up against the door and to stay away from the windows. I mention this because it is so sad that we live in a time where people have to come up with an in-case-of-massacre plan. The media-whores keep pushing the question of whether or not the campus police were prepared for this to happen, but really, isn't this the kind of event that we should, ideally, be completely unprepared for? Or are we really meant to live our lives thinking, "Okay, if we have a massacre today, here's what we need to do..."
Teachers just aren't paid enough.
Stop playing the blame game. I've read quotes from so many people who were "outraged" that the school wasn't closed down after the first two killings. Do these people realize how difficult it is to close an entire university campus? That would be equivalent to closing down an entire town because of one murder. With a campus police squad. What do you think would have happened if the campus police called the National Guard and said, we had a student shoot two other students in the dorm, will you come right over? If I were teaching in the English building at my school, I'm sure I could have gone on about the importance of thesis statements for hours before I had realized there had been a shooting in the Engineering building. Those campus cops did their best. Nobody could have prevented such a horrible thing from happening--there is only one person to blame, and he is dead.
Although, this generation is coming of age in a time when the government consistently tries to solve its problems with violence, so maybe a teeny bit of blame can go there, too.
I cannot live in fear. I cannot live in fear. Despite the title of this entry, I cannot allow myself to become so wrapped up in worry and doubt that I try to "save" M. from all the nasty things that could possibly happen to her. Bad things happen. Horrible, tragic things happen. But living life as if they are always about to happen? That, too, is tragic. As a mother, I have to let my daughter live her life as best she can with the tools I provide her. As a teacher, I cannot be suspicious of every student who seems stressed out or angry--hell, I'm stressed out and angry most of the time! As a thinking person, I cannot allow the media to dictate my perception of the world around me...just because they always focus on the negative doesn't mean I have to! Whenever something like this happens, I have to remind myself that there are good things in this world, as well. There are glorious, giving people doing good work every day. We just rarely hear about them.

Yet Another Reason to Worry for my Daughter

2007-04-16T09:07:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, my mother, sister, and I made an emergency run to the mall because we were suddenly overwhelmed with the need for Cinnabon. While there, we witnessed this atrocity:

This poster was huge--about 48" tall--and pasted right in the middle of the mall on one of those ad islands. Initially I thought, "What? An ad for hookers right here in the mall?!" But no, after reading it over a few times and translating the hip hop slang into English, I realized that this was an anti-smoking ad. As best as I can piece together, the message is: Guys--if you want slutty, mostly naked women to like you, then you better not smoke because slutty women only like smokefree men. Slutty, mostly-naked women--it does not matter whether you smoke or not, as long as you remain slutty-looking and convince boys that they shouldn't smoke.

What the hell?!

This is wrong on so, so many levels. I imagine M., 13 years old, prowling the mall with some of her other teenage friends and seeing this ad. What is the message that they are really getting? That it is not cool to smoke? Or that in order to be cool they need to look like hookers? The group that put out this ad claims that their goal is to overcome the tobacco industry's manipulation of the hip hop community. While an admirable goal, it seems to me that they are advancing it by sacrificing the dignity of young women, and young black women in particular. If the tobacco industry is undermining young urban youth, is not this organization undermining the self respect of young women?

I really had to choke down my scream of indignation while standing there in the mall with my baby. Instead, I just looked at her and explained, "This is never okay."

What do you think? Has giving birth made me into a prude? Am I the only one who finds this more than a little disturbing?

Easter, Part Two

2007-04-14T11:45:00.000-07:00

Easter pictures continue, courtesy of Brian.

Saturday night found us back at our rental where Auntie Hannah met us. We absolutely HAD to color eggs, even though by the time we got around to it, the babies were both in bed. Still, after a few glasses of wine, egg coloring was a blast. I think that Hannah even dyed an egg IN her wine!

Lacking any of the basic coloring accoutrement (crayons, stickers, what have you), Hannah raided the tool drawer and came up with scotch tape, some old masking tape, and emergency candles. We made do and came up with some pretty impressive eggs.

On Easter Sunday we were up bright and early so that the babies could take part in the egg hunt at the park across the street. First, though, they got to see what the Easter Bunny brought them...a basket full of sugary goodness for Claire, and Mr. Bonecruncher the Easter Shark for Matilda. Mr. Bonecruncher likes to eat Peeps.

Then it was off to the park across the street for the egg hunt. There was a special hunt for kids two and under, in their own part of the park, but that lasted about all of two minutes before the big kids invaded and stole all the eggs. Matilda managed to find two eggs, and Claire three, before all the eggs were gone.

"I'm ready for eggs!"

Matilda finds her first egg.

"Dear God! What is this horrible creature?!"

Since there were no more eggs, Matilda took her first ride on a swing...

She was unimpressed.

After the hunt, Hannah and I drove to SLO to go to church. I hadn't been to church in, oh...a decade or so, so I was pleased to find out that I remembered how to do it. While we were gone, Erin and Ian, our resident gourmet chefs, whipped up an Easter feast to be proud of. Then Hannah and Erin came up with various ways to torture Peeps--Hannah opted for a classic roasting over an open flame, while Erin went straight for the microwave...

and I settled in for a nice Easter nap with Mr Bonecruncher.

She's One of a Kind!

2007-04-13T08:29:00.000-07:00

Top ten things I love about the internet...

1) e-mail--I go absolutely bat-shit crazy when something prevents me from checking my e-mail.
2) netflix--and to think I used to stand around in the video store wondering what to rent...and to think I paid LATE FEES!
3) this blog--SO self-indulgent! SO much fun!
4) bloglines--keeps all the blogs I love to read in some semblance of order and starts my day with a batch of fresh new posts.
5) hyperlinks--don't you feel like an adventurer when you allow yourself to get lost in a whirl of link buttons until you just don't remember what you started out looking at in the first place?
6) wikipedia--all the questionably truthful knowledge you could hope to handle...proof of democracy in action on the internet.
7) google maps--no folding required.
8) craigslist--take my junk...please!
9) Oh my beloved eBay...how did I ever live without you? (I recently reached purple star level with more than 500 positive feedback--I'm foxy!)

and number 10...completely useless web-sites like this one that for some reason suck us in with the power of their sheer pointlessness.

There are two other Tracy Sangsters in the U.S.

There are four other Ian Caballeros in the U.S.

There is only ONE Matilda Caballero in the U.S...and we got her!

"I'm one of a kind!"

Time Warp to Saint Patty's

2007-04-12T08:08:00.000-07:00

I'm going to take you back in time, now. I neglected to post about Matilda's first St. Patrick's Day last month, but, I'm not going to beat myself up about it because hey, it's my blog, and I can post things out of order if I want to!

In Reno there is an event that takes place every month in which the city's open container ordinances are conveniently overlooked for the afternoon. This booze-fest is the Downtown Wine Walk. Most of the downtown businesses meet their civic duty and convert for the day from retail stores and restaurants into bars, and for $15 you get to wander around the city center with a wine glass "tasting" all of the wines that the businesses are "sampling". (Read: the businesses buy the cheapest two-buck-chuck they can find and mete it out in tiny little splashes, requiring people to run around to every business as quickly as possible in order to get as drunk as possible in the three hours allowed.) Fun, no? And absolutely appropriate as a family outing! (I use sarcasm, but there were actually many, many people with babies wandering around the wine walk--hey! We can't go to bars, OKAY?) So, we packed the baby in her Bjorn and headed out for a St. Patty's Day treat. Matilda seemed to enjoy herself; she had some fascinating conversations with inebriated citizens while we waited in lines--babies like being taken seriously. She also visited a gay bar for the first time--an important first for any baby, especially a daughter of mine, who will, because she holds half of my genes, be enigmatically drawn to gay men.

"Mama, I think (hic) I've had too much wine!"

Sangstellero parenting tip #53:
Don't let a little thing like having a baby hinder your holiday drinking.

Easter, Part One

2007-04-11T10:58:00.000-07:00

We had the most wonderful Easter this year! In fact, I think I can say without exaggeration that it was the best Easter I ever had. Recipe for a perfect Easter: One part good friends, one part beautiful landscape, 2 parts funny babies. Easter is one of those events that just isn't fun without kids. Take out coloring eggs, chocolate bunnies, Easter egg hunts, and baskets full of goodies and what are you left with? Sitting at church listening to the story of Christ's crucifixion for the thirty-third time. Ho hum. Unfortunately, being the brain-dead wonder that I am, I left the extra battery for my camera sitting in its charger at home, so I only managed to get pictures of Saturday before my camera died. So here are some photos from that day...you will just have to be patient until Auntie Erin sends me copies of all the pictures I took on Sunday with her camera.

On Saturday we visited one of my favorite places in the whole world--Montana de Oro. It was the best time of year to be there, when the park's name becomes apparent, when all the hills are truly covered in gold.

I can't think of a better way to celebrate Spring. Oh, and did I mention that this magical place is also the shoreline?

In my mind, nothing, nothing is more beautiful than the central coast of California. And this was the perfect central California day--a small storm out at sea sent in dramatic waves and created a gray sky, the perfect backdrop for all of the bright flowers...

and the type of weather that draws me towards the water.

Matilda was completely taken with the ocean. She was happy to sit at the window of our rental house and gaze out at it...

and the feel of the ocean breeze made her smile--she would turn her head towards it...

and she also liked the sand...

but loved the rocks...

It was a perfect day.

Matilda also discovered a few more things she loved...

afternoon naps with Auntie Erin...

and morning music with Uncle Brian.

More Easter pictures to come soon.

Eye Candy, or, Why Micaela is So So Wrong

2007-03-09T07:25:00.000-08:00

So I had hoped that I would never sink so low with my blog as to use it for memes, and certainly not to use it for the lowest of memes--the Hot List. But, my friend Micaela and I have been battling for weeks about a certain topic, and I warned her that if she dared to use her blog to push this particular issue, then I would have to use my blog for a rebuttal. She did, and so now I must. So, without further ado...

Why Kiefer Sutherland is NOT the hottest man on television! (for Micaela)

First, I must admit that I don't watch 24, although I am led to believe that Jack Bauer is a genuine bad-ass. Okay, so he ripped out some guy's jugular with his teeth...that is very cool; however, it does not qualify him for hottest man on television! I'm not saying that Kiefer's bad-looking or anything--I mean, if you can get past the image of him as a hillbilly Klan member in A Time to Kill, or as a rapist/murderer in Eye for an Eye, or as a really creepy vampire in Lost Boys. Sure, if you can get past all the horrible images of all the really nasty men he's played, he's maybe even a little good-looking. But hottest man on television? I don't think so. Here are the actual hottest men on television.

First, let's start out with the entire male cast of Lost, or, as I like to call it, The Island of Ridiculously Good-Looking Men. They are nearly all hotter than Kiefer Sutherland, including the A-NUMBER-ONE HOTTEST man on TV--Josh Holloway. Oh that Sawyer makes me feel all tingly inside! How anyone can rank Kiefer Sutherland above Sawyer, well, it just boggles the mind. That scruffy-lookin' ("scruffy lookin'?!") redneck is absolutely the hottest man on television. I would watch Lost just for him, but hey! There are lots of other hotties to sweeten the pot!

Lost, it's like she-porn.

Now let's move from the Island of Ridiculously Good-Looking Men to the Hospital of Ridiculously Good-Looking Men and the Number Two Hottest Man on Television--McSteamy. When Eric Danes made his debut on Grey's Anatomy, I almost had to reconsider my stance on Sawyer...almost, but not quite. Still, this scruffy-lookin' ("scruffy lookin?!"--are you seeing a theme here?) doctor keeps me loyal to Grey's Anatomy even when it totally pisses me off. Oh, and let's not forget about McDreamy or McJerky, both of whom are hotter than Kiefer Sutherland.

Next, Battlestar Galatica and the two hottest viper pilots in the Universe: Apollo and Helo

Hot, hot, HOTTER than Kiefer Sutherland!

Also, I know this one may be up for argument, but I really have a thing for Joe Dubois from Medium. Maybe it's just because he's such an amazing husband, maybe it's his sexy bed-head hair, or maybe it's his fabulous accent (yes, Micaela, he does have an accent)...or it could be that he spends his off-time killing zombies. I don't know, but he is STILL hotter than Kiefer Sutherland!

Finally, there is still a place in my heart for my Survivor babe, Jeff Probst. Hell, even Phil Keoghan is HOTTER THAN KIEFER SUTHERLAND!

Okay, okay, I guess I've made my point. Even without mentioning Chris Noth, who doesn't count anymore because he's not nearly as hot on Law and Order: CI as he was on Sex and the City.

Oh Micaela, we agree on so much, I'd hate to see this matter drive a wedge into our relationship...so let's just agree that I'm right, OKAY?

Love,
Tracy

Disclaimer: My scruffy lookin ("scruffy lookin'?!") husband is not on television, therefore, he does not qualify for this list. Otherwise, of course, he would be right at the top.

Because it's Just SO Funny!

2007-03-03T11:13:00.000-08:00

View this post from one of my favorite blogs. Ahhahahhaaaahhahahahah!!!! (That is me laughing wildly.)

Got Puke?

2007-03-02T08:42:00.000-08:00

"I Pity the Fool Who Doesn't Find Me Adorable!"

2007-02-27T10:30:00.000-08:00

Because M. is growing so tall, I already had to unpack all of her 6-9 month clothes. And when I did, guess what I found? M.'s Mr. T onesie that had been hiding in there waiting for her to grow cool enough to own it. And own it she did. Of course, I put her hair in a stylish mohawk to emphasize her coolness, and then we went out to breakfast where she proceeded to impress me by sitting in a high chair for the first time (yay!) and by eating some of the Cheerios that the waitress brought her. Thanks, Auntie Erin and Uncle Brian for getting M. this, the coolest of onesies.

I am BAD-ASS!

Hanging in my High-Chair

Look, Ma! I ate all my Cheerios!

So tired after my day of coolness...I will sleep dreaming of Mr. T

Random Bullets

2007-02-24T15:01:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I was doing really well with the blog for a few weeks and then, not so good. I have had a really busy, stressful couple of weeks and I hope you all forgive me for becoming a bit lax in my writing. So, to catch up, I am going to steal an idea that I see in lots of other blogs I read and do some random bullets.

As an update from my last blog: I was so looking forward to Meredith's untimely demise, and then she comes back from the brink...damn. Ian was really hoping for the show to change its name to Yang's Anatomy--he, too, was disappointed. Maybe this near death experience will make Meredith a little more grateful. In the meantime, Battlestar Galatica continues to be the greatest show on television. Those characters are grateful...grateful for every day their lives aren't interrupted by Cylon attacks, grateful for every day that they continue to survive when the rest of the human (?) race has been annihilated. So, for those of you who have told me (rightfully so) that I am expecting too much out of GA, seeing that it is just a glorified soap opera, I say, BG has proven to me that shows can be smart and sexy and entertaining without being annoyingly overly-dramatic and completely unrealistic.
Applying for community college jobs sucks. It sucks worse than applying for grad school even. I am so sick of answering the same questions over and over again in the same application packet. When asked for the third time to list my degrees and teaching experience, I am so tempted to write, "Look at my CV, cover letter, transcripts, letters of recommendation, or the annoying on-line application I have already filled out. Are the members of your search committee so stupid and lazy that they can't figure out that this information has already been presented to them FIVE DIFFERENT TIMES?!" But somehow I think that would hinder my chances of getting an interview.
Now that Matilda has figured out how to roll from her back to her belly, she has conveniently forgotten that she already knew how to roll from her belly to her back. This results in many cases of screeching face-down baby. No amount of coaching convinces her that she can rescue herself from the horrors of tummy time. So she continues to constantly roll herself over onto her belly only to begin shrieking for somebody to roll her back. Very annoying.
Early springtime in Reno. Air-conditioning on in the car one day, ice scraper out the next. I once had a very clever classmate tell me that "There is no Spring in Reno...Winter and Summer just fight for a while." I'm rooting for Summer.
Our house is for sale. The friends we are renting from decided to put it on the market, so now we have realtors and strangers poking through our home all the time. This only cements in my mind my dislike of realtors. They call at the last minute wanting to show the house and then get all prissy with me if I can't be home exactly when they need me to be. Dear Realtor X: We are renters who gain nothing from the sale of this house except an eviction notice. The fact that we allow you in at all is only because we rent from friends. Do not expect us to go out of our way to make life more convenient for you. No, Saturday from 2-4 is not a great time for us...how would you feel if somebody asked you to cut your day off in half? Oh wait, you get a big fat commission from the sale of this house. Tell you what--if you show up with a twenty every time you want to show the house, I'll be more obliged to go out of my way for you. I may even let you in the house when you show up 45 minutes early and I have just gotten ready to take a shower. Otherwise, bugger off. Sincerely, The Renter Who Hates You.
My new favorite thing is Charlie and Lola. My rampant Anglophilia made it necessary for me to start Tivo-ing this lovely British children's show, and now I can't get enough. I'm pretty sure I like it more than M. She's still on Elmo (don't even get me started on Elmo). Oh how I wish that I could live in Britain so that M. would grow up to be witty and well-spoken like Lola. Well, I guess she can grow up witty and well-spoken here, but it's just not the same without the accent.
Finally, here are some new pictures of M. She is awfully cute, but I don't think she has any future in baby modeling since the minute she sees a camera she decides to start chewing on her lower lip while examining her navel. These two pictures were gleaned out of about 3 dozen taken. Thankfully, our photographer Heather is very, very patient.

Why Grey's Anatomy Can Kiss my Ass

2007-02-11T09:57:00.000-08:00

So Ian and I didn't get around to watching Grey's Anatomy until last night (a sure sign that the thrill is wearing off--with the show, that is, not with Ian), and instead of being moved by this "unforgettable special episode of Grey's Anatomy," I was totally pissed off. I've just about had it with these doctors and their constant fits of petty depression. This week, Meredith tries to "disappear" into her bathtub and is comforted by Izzy who "ate everything out of the fridge last night." Why are these women so constantly unhappy?! What is so bad about their lives ?! Let me lay it out for you: These people work in an amazing hospital where they love what they do--they love it so much, in fact, that they never truly want to leave work. And why would they? I mean, all of their best friends work in the same place...they get to talk with their friends, eat with their friends, and laugh with their friends whenever they want. And let's not forget the enormous amounts of money they get paid to do this. Not that the money matters; all they ever spend it on is booze, rent, and student loan payments (except for Izzy, who has no student loans, and Meredith, who inherited her huge, gorgeous Seattle home). Let's not leave out the fact that they all conveniently fall in love with people they work with, which makes sense since everyone in the hospital is ridiculously good-looking!

And then the complaining begins...

All they do is bitch, bitch, bitch, about how hard their lives are, what a struggle it is to be them. Please. I wish my life was such a struggle! Let's see...what would my life be like if I lived in the Grey's Anatomy world?

Well, first of all, I'd be brilliant at what I do. (Oh wait, I already am! Skip that one) Then, I'd have a great job at a well-funded, private college where, conveniently enough, all of my students just happen to write the most interesting papers I have ever read (well, maybe not all of them, but at least one a week). Ian works there, too. He teaches in the Math department. We both makes tons of money, but we don't really care about that because we own our home outright (an old beauty with tons of space and character), we don't have a lot of expenses (let's throw in some on-site daycare for Matilda), and we already have tons in savings thanks to that 9 mil that Ian inherited from a terminally-ill heiress he used to tutor. Work really is my social life because everyone I work with is super-cool (and super-hot), not to mention all the people in Ian's department who are also fun and hip. We all like to eat together in the quad and make jokes about the dorks from the Science building. Let's see, what else? Oh yeah, there's that hot guy from the Veterinary Medicine department who found me irresistible, but Ian took care of him. It's so fun when guys fight over me. Yes, my job is stressful--and sometimes my students fail, but it's what I've always wanted to do, and I'm just so damned good at it! Besides, if this gig doesn't work out I can always fall back on my career as a lingerie model or just retire and live off the interest on our savings.

Wow, that would suck. I can see where I'd have so much to complain about. I, too, might have to drown myself in the bathtub or eat everything in the fridge (not that it would matter, since I never gain weight no matter how much I eat).

Give me a break.

I realize that this is a TV show and therefore the characters have to live completely unrealistic lives in order to remain interesting, but I really think the writers are pushing it. Can't we have just one episode where all of the characters are just like "Wow, I am so damned lucky! Today I think I will revel in being me!" No, they just deal with a massive tragedy where their response is to argue about who gets to scrub in on whose emergency surgery. This was interesting for two seasons, but, as I said earlier, the thrill is wearing off.

Oh well. At least Survivor started this week.

Let's Just Hope Matilda Doesn't Choose to Get Around Like This...

2007-02-09T09:30:00.000-08:00

Tracy, 1973, 7 months old
(If you're not sure what's going on here--I'm crawling)

Increasingly-Mobile Matilda

2007-02-09T08:48:00.000-08:00

So I am sitting here, drinking my coffee and catching up on the ridiculous amount of blogs I subscribe to (more on that later) while M. plays with Elephant and Donkey. I've gotten pretty good at translating her screeches, which usually fall into two categories when she is playing E&D: "Mama, I need you!" or "Dammit, Elephant! When I say rattle, you rattle, bitch!" Well, just a moment ago, I heard a different kind of screech--kind of a "grunt, grunt, screech, ungh, screech, grunt." So I investigated and found that this new screech is translated as, "Holy crap! I'm on my stomach! How did that happen?" Yes, it's official. M. has rolled from her stomach to her back (Christmas Eve) and now from her back to her stomach. This scares me. When my sister was a baby, her first efforts at mobility involved rolling around the house--stomach, back, stomach, back--until she got where she wanted to go (which was usually my room to get into my stuff). I am suddenly struck with visions of M. rolling about the house, invading areas that were previously unattainable (and now it's all my room and all my stuff). Now I actually have to worry about her! She could roll right out of her gym and out the door and down the street and next thing I know I'm getting a call from the Quickie Mart asking me please to come pick up my baby they found her trying to reach the tequila.

Okay, maybe that won't happen. But mobility is a scary thing. Kids are a lot easier to manage when they stay where you put them. No more laying M. on the couch to nap or lying her on the booth seat at restaurants. I'll actually have to treat her like a child instead of a sack of potatoes (albeit very fragile, precious potatoes). You may think that all of this is a bit premature--after all, she only just rolled over for the first time 10 minutes ago--but if there's one thing I know about M. it's that she is a quick study. When she does something once, she's pretty much nailed it and immediately files it into her repertoire of "Things I Can Do." I expect there will be much rolling very soon. I need a playpen, and an exersaucer, and a leash...

A Zit Story

2007-02-07T10:17:00.000-08:00

So this morning I woke up immediately knowing that I had a gigantic zit on my chin. Horrible. That's just a sucky way to start the day...stretch, yawn, feel the zit growing on your chin. I sensed it was not going to be a great day.

It was at this point that I heard M. babbling at me from her crib. I went in to get her up and what did I see but a great big zit in exactly the same place on her chin! So. weird. She smiled at me as if to say: See, Mama? We all get zits.

I love her.

Zit Twins

This IS the Next Big Idea!

2007-02-06T10:29:00.000-08:00

Okay, I've finally come up with it...the idea that is going to make me millions! So there I was, chugging away at my own, personal ~~torture device~~ elliptical trainer, when it came to me: the ultimate motivation to ~~torture oneself~~ exercise! I (and by "I" I mean Ian) will design a box that will hook up to one's TV and also to one's chosen ~~torture device~~ exercise machine. The TV will only work so long as the ~~torture device~~ exercise machine is in use! I know! Brilliant, right? Want that Lost fix? You have to exercise! Survivor premier coming up? Exercise! Sesame Street on? Well, that kid better figure out how to EXERCISE! The benefits of this invention are two-fold--you get more exercise while simultaneously cutting back on your television viewing.

You better not steal this idea from me before I can get it to Oprah.

Edited to include:

The train of thought which led to this "Big Idea":

If only I could make it through The Daily Show! I'll do it! I will keep going through The Daily Show! Oh! A commercial! (fast forward, fast forward) Okay, let's keep going! You know, this segment is kind of boring. (fast forward, fast forward) Alright, almost there! Huh, I'm really not enjoying this guest too much (fast forward, fast forward) Hey! Look at that! The show is over! I made it! Yeah, uh, I worked out for a whole half-hour! (Or, you know, 7 minutes.)

More Useless Crap for Moms

2007-02-05T17:07:00.000-08:00

Looks like I'm not the only blogger out there ready to mock the ridiculous inventions meant to ease the suffering of mothers everywhere...check out this blog. (I noted, though, that she failed to mention the Baby Shaker!)

A Not-So-Big Idea

2007-02-03T09:43:00.000-08:00

So I was watching Oprah yesterday (because the draw of Oprah is just too powerful at 4:00 when Daddy is almost home and I'm tired and frustrated and have begun to question this whole Mommy business and Oprah just might have the answers for me), and she was talking with Moms who turned their small ideas into multi-million dollar empires, making all of the Moms at home feel stupid and inadequate for not coming up with ridiculously simple ideas of their own to make millions because hey, who knew it was just that easy, when I thought of this ridiculous thing that I had seen in the classifieds of one of the parenting magazines that I got a free subscription to just by having a baby (because that is the real reason to have children...free subscriptions!), and I thought that I'd share it with my readers because it's way more fun to mock people with really stupid ideas then to envy the ones with the good ideas! (Wow! That was all one sentence!)

So here it is, the thing you just cannot live without...the Baby Shaker!

Now how did I get through nine months of pregnancy without a cheap piece of plastic with bells attached so that I could know when my baby was moving?! Because Lord knows I couldn't, you know, feel her moving or anything! Or that anybody couldn't just look at my belly and see the Alien-esque undulations as M. did her best to escape through my navel! And I could have had this treasure for only $21.95! What a bargain! I guess I'll have to go on-line right now and buy this essential item for anybody I know who is pregnant so that they won't suffer this loss as I have. Oh wait! I'm not going to do that because this is the most ridiculous and useless thing I have ever seen! I think even Lillian Vernon would pass on this contraption! I mean seriously, people....seriously.

(If you want a really good laugh, though, go to the web-site and watch the "action video.")

So here's some of my big ideas, Oprah...maybe I will win your contest and become the next multi-millionaire and then I can be on your show and we could maybe even do lunch:

1) Robot nanny. Who can afford full time help anymore except rich Republicans who hire their child care illegally from third world countries? Weren't we promised robots by now? I've tried the whole dog-nanny thing from Peter Pan, but Grendel didn't want to wear the ruffled hat. I need me a robot! I'll get Ian working on the prototype right away.

2) Self-cleaning bottles. The minute you replace the cap on a used bottle, a poof! and a whoosh! and the bottle is clean and sterile and ready to go. I'm sure the science for this exists somewhere.

3) No-mess baby food. I imagine this would work something like those magnet-dust kid's games, but the food is attracted to saliva and just sucks right into the baby's mouth as soon as it dribbles down her chin. Or maybe some sort of surgically implanted tiny vacuum just under the tongue. I hate to put the bib people out of business, but this is a competitive world.

I think I'll go apply for patents on all these ideas right away. Maybe I'll call whatever attorney got the Baby Shaker people their patent because he must be very, very good.

This is SO Sexy...

2007-02-01T14:16:00.000-08:00

I take the fact that this turns me on so much as a sure sign that I am getting much, much older and that my life priorities have veered in a totally new direction. But look at it..."Project Engineer/Estimator"...I think my toes just curled.

The First Supermodel to Become President?

2007-01-31T13:06:00.000-08:00

Matilda had her 4 month check up yesterday, during which she received her first round of vaccinations (we had to wait until we had insurance). She did very well with the shots--screamed for about 30 seconds and then shut up immediately when I gave her her chupeta (oh how she loves her chupie!). She spent most of the visit charming her Dr, who found it impossible to be serious with Matilda grinning at him and laughing when he put his stethoscope on her. She was measured for the first time since she was 1 month old. Stats: 26 inches long (90th percentile), weight 13 pounds (25th percentile), and head circumference 44 cm (95th percentile). Tall, skinny and brilliant...that's my genius supermodel daughter!

Time for your close-up. Madame President?

Babies on a Plane

2007-01-30T20:42:00.000-08:00

(I think some people might prefer the snakes)

Last week M. and I took a trip to Kansas City to visit the family. The question this begs, of course, and that I keep hearing, is "How was the baby on the plane?" The simple answer is that she was fine. To be fair, though, M. is an exceptionally well-behaved baby, and I wasn't expecting it to be a problem. However, that is not the only reason M. was well-behaved. I spent the 4 hours there and the 4 hours back making sure that she was entertained and happy the entire trip...and it was EXHAUSTING. As I explained to Ian: "Imagine that you have to sit on the couch with M. for 4 hours without watching TV or lying down. Imagine that you have to keep her from fussing for that entire 4 hours." Not pleasant. But that's the responsibility of being a parent...preventing your child from being a pain in everyone else's ass. That is why this apparently newsworthy story about the family who got kicked off of a plane because their 3-year-old was throwing a tantrum pisses me off so much. It makes the rest of us look bad. It is kids like that who caused people to look at me on the plane as though I were wearing a burka while fingering suspiciously large fingernail clippers. I was flying Southwest, an airline that has an open-seating policy. I boarded first (because that's the big perk of flying with an infant) and then had to endure getting the fish eye from every passenger who boarded after me. (This is, I might point out, an excellent way to get a row of seats to yourself.) And you know what happened? Upon landing, I got comments from strangers after every flight about how good my baby was, what a pleasure it was to fly with her, and how they wished every baby could be so good. I hate to deny my daughter her props, but I like to think that I had something to do with that. Thank you, Tracy, for being a responsible parent and making sure your baby was happy and quiet no matter how exhausting it was to you. Thank you for not letting your baby scream as though that was your God-given right as a parent. Thank you for being a decent and considerate human being.

Oh, you're welcome world...you're very, very welcome.

I wish I could send flowers to that flight crew who kicked that family off the plane. Why is it that some people think that parenthood allows them the opportunity to behave like assholes? That nobody else on a plane (or in movie theaters, or in waiting rooms, or in restaurants) matters but them? And that nobody can say anything about it without being stigmatized as some sort of child-hating, evil bastard? And hey? Where's my frikkin' free ticket for being a good parent? Why do the assholes get to fly wherever they want courtesy of the airline and I just get a pat on the back? Because assholes profit, my friends, assholes profit.

M. and I prepare to board for her first flight